


The Avengers

by random_flores



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_flores/pseuds/random_flores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never trust a man to do a Cheerio's job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She's Built You Up To Just Put You Down

**Author's Note:**

> I realized this was never posted here, and I'm nothing if not thorough. 
> 
> Based on this Glee_Fluff_meme prompt: The boys might have heard Will about not taking revenge against VA, but the girls didn't. Chapter Titles from 'Femme Fatale' by the Velvet Underground.
> 
> This takes place directly after the S1 episode 'Funk'

_All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him._  
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War

\--

Exactly nine months ago, if someone had wanted to find Brittany and Santana, they would have had to look no further than two steps behind Quinn Fabray. 

Quinn hadn't just been a Cheerio; she had been THE Cheerio. The Force. The Head-Bitch-In-Charge, who, despite only being a sophomore, ruled this school with the determination and ruthlessness of a Roman Emperor at war. 

Two wine coolers, and the irrational impulse to want to believe in Noah Puckerman of all people had ripped that away from her and left her a homeless, hobbling, bloated, pregnant statistic with swollen feet who had just spent twenty minutes looking for Brittany and Santana and come up empty. 

Instead of Brittany and Santana flanking her sides, parting the hallways like freaking Moses and the Red Sea, she had a new best friend; Mercedes Jones, who breathed a little too noisily as she tried to both text from her cellphone and keep up with Quinn's furious stride. No one stepped out of their way or seemed to even see them. 

It was infuriating. 

Fortunately, Quinn had become a master of the well placed shoulder jab, and a few jocks had learned their lesson, wincing and skittering away as a result. 

"I think Brittany forgot to charge her phone again." Mercedes wiped a bang out of her eyes. "It's going straight to voicemail. I would leave a message but it keeps saying the mailbox is full." 

"It's been full for the last six months." Quinn didn't bother to hide her exasperation. "Brittany can't remember how to check it. I'm checking the library." 

"The library? Please." An impish smile spread on the other girl's face. "They're probably locked up in some janitor's closet somewhere, making out." 

The image conjured was enough to cause Qunn's insides to gurgle in disgust, her baby thrusting out and pounding at her insides in retaliation. 

"Please. I JUST brushed my teeth from the last time I threw up today," she snipped, ignoring the slightly disappointed look from Mercedes. 

It wasn't like she never knew about the two of them. They had been best friends, however loosely any of them meant that. And Quinn may have had moments of seriously bad judgment (witness current BABY), but she was far from stupid. She didn't believe in gaydar, but there wasn't anything normal about the way Brittany and Santana looked at each other, even back then. 

It didn't matter if Quinn knew better now. All someone had to do was look at Kurt to realize that it wasn't a choice. Somehow, she had always known that. It hadn't stopped the nearly visceral reaction; the almost irrational anger that swelled in her each and every time she walked into a room two seconds too early, witnessing Brittany and Santana jumping away from each other, identical guilty expressions painting their features. 

Of course back then, one glare from Quinn had been enough to squelch any lingering glances, grazing touches. Quinn had considered herself their own personal Savior, shutting down their homosexual urges by forcing them to join chastity club, shoving Santana at Puck and convincing dim Brittany that it would be an awesome feat to make out with every guy in the school. 

It hadn't been altogether Christian, all that manipulation, but Quinn figured being a slut had to have been better than being a lesbian, at least in God's eyes.

That had lasted as long as her popularity. Without Quinn to keep them in check, Brittany and Santana had quickly risen out of her shadow, and created their own rainbow hued cast. Oh, they were still sluts, but now they were bi-sluts who couldn't keep their hands off each other (or anyone else) and didn't care who knew. 

What was left of their friendship existed in pockets of commiseration and pity, mingled with something that felt almost like resentment. 

On both sides. Quinn didn't have the energy to wonder why, but there was such a feeling of loss inside her each and every time she witnessed linked pinkies and intimate whispers, she felt damn near hollow. 

"Oh, come on. I think it's cute. You know, in a Pinky & the Brain kinda way." The phone in Mercedes' palms buzzed. "Tina says to check the library." Head lifting up, Mercedes' expression to Quinn was that of skeptical disbelief. 

"This is ridiculous," Quinn breathed, and pivoted on her foot, striding back the way they came to turn down another hallway, grabbing hold of the handle of the door that led to the school library, and yanking it open. The musty smell of old books and sweaty backpacks hit her like a slap in the face, and she grimaced, squinting as she let her eyes adjust to the dark. "I told you they'd be in here," Quinn hissed somewhat bitterly. 

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" Mercedes protested, eyes wide at the image of the two Cheerios, settled quite comfortably at one of the dirty wooden tables, huddled together over a book. "It's Brittany. And Santana."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, hair whirling as she turned back to glare at her friend. Her brief, odd moment of protective sensitivity faded when Mercedes, unafraid, only cocked a knowing brow. With an exhalation, Quinn's head dipped in acknowledgment. "Brittany finds the gross smell… soothing. Or something. Something about it smelling like armpits. I don't know. They just like it in here." 

A loud, intrusive 'SHHHH' was directed their way, and when Quinn glanced, the old crone of a librarian put her finger to her mouth in warning. 

Biting down her acerbic retort, Quinn stepped forward, ready to head in their direction when a warm hand held her back. "What?" 

Mercedes, it seemed, had been hit with a moment of indecisiveness. "Are you sure we need them?" Before Quinn could roll her eyes, she continued hurriedly, "I'm just saying; it's not like either of them give a crap about Rachel. And asking Santana for help?" Mercedes shuddered. "I feel unclean. Like I'm making a deal with the devil."

"I feel unclean already," Quinn muttered. Thinking about the fact that she was on a quest to avenge Rachel Berry's honor like some sort of white knight made her want to scrub her brain with bleach. "But this is about Glee and Santana is one of us. She'll help us." Mercedes' look still reeked of doubt. "Look, out of everyone in this Glee Club, who would you vote most likely to kill someone in a fit of rage? Besides Puck," she amended, patting her belly in an unconscious plea for forgiveness for her unborn baby's thug of a father. 

"Please, that boy stopped being scary the second he wouldn't shut up about the Rainbow Track in Super Mario Kart," Mercedes huffed, before her lips pursed in thought. "I see your point," she conceded. 

"Good." Quinn jerked her head in the direction she wanted to be moving. "Let's go." 

Santana was the first to see them approaching. She gave them nothing but a look of disdain. Brittany, curved into Santana's side, offered instead a smile and a wave. 

"Hi guys!" 

"We're busy," Santana said immediately, eyes locked on her book. "Go away." 

Instead, Quinn placed her hands flat on the wooden table. "We can't let what Vocal Adrenaline did to Rachel stand. I demand retribution." She knew the words weren't quite right the moment they left her mouth, and flushed in embarrassment when Santana expression shifted from brief shock to smug mockery. 

"What am I, the friggin' Godfather?" Her tone dripped with sarcasm. 

The comparison was almost laughable. "Hardly. What you are, is a member of the Glee Club, and if Mr. Schue is going to be a total passive hippie and tell us to dance the funk at them, and the guys are stupid enough to be happy with that, I think it's up to the girls to return the favor." 

"We need to prank Vocal Adrenaline," Mercedes affirmed beside her. "And prank them bad. What they did was cold." 

"I made out with Mrs. Weene the lunch lady once," Brittany interjected. Quinn blinked and found her lip wrinkling in reaction, conjuring suddenly the image of the gray-haired chubby woman in the plastic hair net. "In the cafeteria freezer. It was really cold in there." 

Brittany's eyes went back down to her book. Any remark Mercedes might have made was squelched immediately when Santana lifted her head and shot her a murderous look, daring her to make a comment. 

Mercedes' mouth clamped shut, but her eyes to Quinn were wild. Suddenly exhausted, Quinn could only shrug.

"Anyway," she began. 

"Anyway-" Santana interrupted, tone flat. "In case you're suddenly pregnant and deaf, I told you we're busy."

"You're actually reading 'The Art of War'." Mercedes voice was tinted in disbelief. 

"I'm not reading it," Brittany admitted softly, tongue poking out of mouth in concentration as she etched. "I just like drawing between the spaces." 

Currently, a small dandelion was forming in the margin of the defaced library book. 

Inhaling noisily through her nostrils, Quinn crossed her arms and muttered quickly, "Coach Sylvester had us memorize it freshman year. She didn't make you?" 

Mercedes frowned. "All she gave me was a stack of Aretha Franklin CDs and a copy of Jillian Michael's '30 Day Shred'." When Santana snorted, Mercedes glared. "Got a problem with that?" 

Santana's answering expression clearly indicated the girl not worth her attention. Toying with the spine of the book delicately with her pinkie, she said to Quinn, "She's yours now, isn't she? Fix her." 

"Fix me?!" 

Mercedes' nostrils actually flared. Before the other girl could launch herself over the table to throttle Santana, Quinn quickly stepped forward, blocking Mercedes with her belly. "Santana, seriously, we have a problem. Vocal Adrenaline needs to pay." 

"Wrong, Tubbers, you have a problem," Santana replied immediately, eyes flitting to Brittany, until the girl seemed satisfied with her drawing and nodded. Santana immediately turned the page, and Brittany pressed in again, scribbling with her pen. "We have work to do." 

"Since when do you care about homework?"

"Since when do you care about Rachel?" 

Santana's dark head finally rose, eyes locking with hers in a heated, unafraid gaze that suddenly caused Quinn's cheeks to burn. 

"I don't," she said immediately, and said it so quickly and defensively she groaned inside. Santana's eyes twinkled with an evil mirth, and just the sight of it was enough to cause Quinn's spine to stiffen. Eyes narrowing, her mouth flattened. "It's a matter of honor. For Glee Club." 

"Glee Club," Santana drawled, drawing the words out until they seemed superficial and ridiculous. "Right." 

It was moments like these when she hated Santana with every fiber of her being. Moments when Santana suddenly looked at her with that stupidly smug expression, like she knew something Quinn didn't. Like she knew Quinn at all. 

Months ago, Santana wouldn't have dared to look at her like that. Now the stare was given freely, and it was humiliating. 

"Quinn, let's just go," Mercedes tugged gently at her elbow. "They're not going to help us." 

"And what are you going to do?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"What's your big idea?" Santana settled back against her wooden chair, pushing the book towards Brittany and crossing her arms. "Your big revenge plan. I bet it's brilliant." 

Glancing helplessly at Quinn, Mercedes' answer was weak. "We hadn't actually thought of anything yet." 

"Of course you haven't." Santana's gaze never left Quinn's. "This is beyond the scope of someone whose worst crime was to draw highly inaccurate pornographic pictures of Rachel Berry on the women's bathroom wall." 

Mercedes' gaze swiveled to her. "That was you?" 

"She also slept with Puck when she was with Finn. And then she lied to Finn about the baby," Brittany added. Her smile to Quinn was friendly, as if she was just making a statement about the weather. "That's worse, right?" 

"That wasn't a prank, Britt. That was just a lie. A big, fat lie." Santana's smile widened. "Quinn does deviate between extremes, doesn’t she?" 

It was the baby hormones. It had to be. Quinn had never let anyone get under her skin this easily, but Santana Lopez of all people staring at her, judging her, like she was better than her? Like she had a right? 

The tears sprung to her eyes before she could fight them. "Screw you, Santana." 

"SHHHH!" Mrs. Mackey waved menacingly in their direction. 

Sucking in a soldiering breath and holding to her belly in support, Quinn blinked rapidly to contain herself. Mercedes placed a careful palm on the small of her back. To Santana, she said, "You know, you might have more than one friend if you weren't such a miserable bitch." 

"Who said I needed more than one?" 

Brittany, who had been following the exchange with a look of concern, confusion and unease, seemed to brighten at that. Without reservation, she leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to Santana's cheek that seemed at once friendly and lewd. 

"You don't," Brittany promised, so full of admiration and devotion that it once again touched that hollow place in Quinn, the part that seemed to scab and reopen and scab all over again. An unspoken jealousy and god-damn wistfulness that took hold of her chest and made her feel like choking, because Brittany may have been a Looney Tunes character brought to life, but no one, not Finn, not Puck, not even her parents, had ever loved Quinn the way Brittany seemed to love Santana. 

"You're right, Britt." Santana's gaze broke from hers; her smile for Brittany was indulgent and almost sweet. "I don't." 

"All right, we're out." Mercedes, tired of the whole dramatic farce of a conversation, pressed at her back. "We've got a prank to plan. Let's go, Quinn." 

This time, Quinn didn't waste time in turning around, but their power exit was ruined when in doing so, they nearly collided with Tina. 

"You found them!" Tina said, smiling brightly until she noted the mutual looks of exasperation and aggravation on their faces. "Oh," she sighed, putting two and two together when she glanced at the Cheerios sitting behind them. "You found them." 

"Did you get it?" 

A proud expression flitted on Tina's face immediately when Santana addressed her. Maneuvering around Quinn and Mercedes, she leaned over the table and deposited a slip of paper in Santana's outstretched palm. "Yeap. But we owe Artie big time. Nothing would distract her until he offered to videotape her rendition of 'No Good Deed Goes Unpunished' to cheer her up." 

"Good God." 

The mutual look of commiseration on Santana and Tina's face, coupled with the familiar way Tina settled at the table was unsettling. 

"Tina." Left with little in the way of patience, and with an aching back thanks to a parasitic baby growing inside of her, Quinn's tone snapped like flint. "What are you doing?" 

A look of confusion bubbled up in Tina's face. "We're getting back Vocal Adrenaline. Didn't they tell you?" 

No, Quinn thought miserably, eyes jerking to Santana. The other girl simply gazed coolly back at her. They didn't.

"Say what?" Mercedes husked. 

Santana rolled her eyes. "I was going to tell them." 

"When?" Quinn found herself sputtering. "When you were going on and on like a villain in a James Bond movie?" 

"I thought you said it wasn't your problem!" Mercedes said helplessly. 

"No, I said you two had a problem. Cause you do. Clearly." When Quinn could only stare blankly, Santana huffed and began to articulate every syllable, as if she were speaking to children. "Do you really think we weren't going to do something?" 

"Rachel's kinda annoying, but she's ours." Brittany shrugged, like this was a fact. 

"Not to mention the fact that Vocal Adrenaline egged our Vegan captain and the only thing we did to get back at them was DANCE?" Santana looked disgusted. "It's humiliating. We're Cheerios, for Chrissake." 

Brittany nodded resolutely."And Jesse deserves it, even if he is Mr. Schuester's son." 

The impact of all of this seemed so out of left-field Quinn discovered herself gaping like a fish. Flushing, she shut her mouth and straightened her posture. "I want in." 

"Me too," Mercedes said immediately. 

Santana frowned. "No. You're going to come up with something lame like TP'ing Jesse's house, and embarrass us all." 

"You let in Tina!" Mercedes' whine was almost embarrassing. 

"Tina's goth," Brittany said solemnly, as if that explained everything. "Plus, all she had to do was get Jesse's number off of Rachel's phone." 

Quinn blinked, then found herself fixating. "She still has his number in her phone?" 

"We know. It's pathetic," Santana sighed. 

"I deleted it as soon as I scribbled it down," Tina said helpfully. "Sometimes you have to help those who won't help themselves." 

Quinn's eyes wandered down to the book Brittany had once again begun to scribble in. "That's why you were re-reading the book," she mused, a reluctant smile coming to her lips. "You were preparing." 

"Preparing?" Mercedes head between her and the Cheerios. "Preparing for what?" 

Quinn blew out her breath. "War." 

From Santana, there was the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of recognition; animal instincts that had lain dormant inside her in favor of her maternal ones. 

A sudden rush of exhilaration filled her, and she was once again reminded of her glory days, stalking the hallways of McKinley with Brittany and Santana, who had always been her enforcer. Her general. 

She found herself smiling back. 

"War?!" Mercedes' voice cracked, and this time, not even the librarian's increasingly aggravated 'shhhh' could lower her tone. "Tell me we're not gonna actually try to straight up murder Jesse St. James. Cause I may like Rachel, but I sure as hell ain't going to jail for her." 

Santana's brow arched. "Brittany?" 

Immediately the girl beside her began to clap excitedly. "To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence," Brittany recited, like she was sing-songing a nursery rhyme. "Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting." 

After a moment of shocked silence, Quinn heard Mercedes sputter in her ear, "Am I the only one who's suddenly terrified?" 

\--

In a way, she was almost like a superhero. 

Quinn could be a reformed bad ass. Use her powers for good. 

Like one of those characters in those stupid video games Puck was always playing. The bad guy who used to be an assassin or hit man or something and then some even more evil guys killed his family or his dog or whatever, and now he was all bad ass and on a mission to avenge their deaths by killing everyone, ever. 

Quinn frowned, palm smoothing over her round stomach, focus on Santana as her former friend punched the numbers from the slip of paper into her phone. 

Even if that meant making an uneasy alliance with an ex-man-at-arms who might stab him in the back at the first opportunity.

And was it even worth it? She was achy and pregnant and homeless and when she thought about that, Rachel Berry getting egged in the school parking lot seemed … well… trivial in comparison. Even on an objective level, if Quinn could even BE objective about Rachel. 

Which, apparently judging by the white hot rage that had flooded through her the moment Mercedes had told her about the egging incident, didn't seem to be possible. 

Apparently, somewhere in her unconscious, Quinn had decided that SHE was the only person allowed to screw with McKinley's resident tranny, and it had evoked… this… scheme that rested on some diabolical plan concocted by Santana to win back Glee Club's honor, and avenge Rachel in the process. 

It had been a long day, and a sweaty one. When the muscles in her back cramped in complaint, Quinn grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. 

"Tina, what the hell is this? An 8?" Quinn blinked, broken out of her thoughts when across the choir room, Santana shoved the paper at Tina, who squinted. 

"That's a three." 

"On what planet is that a three? You write like a kindergartner." A pat from Brittany seemed to soothe the Santana-beast, because that was the only insult Tina got, before Santana went back to dialing. 

Quinn's eyes went down to the notebook in her lap, and she opened it to a scribbled portrait of Rachel Berry, with a monstrous nose and pimples sprinkled liberally around her face.

Even if Quinn was a cool superhero or something now, it wasn't like Rachel was her family or even her dog. 

Though there was definitely a puppy-ish quality to her. Quinn decided she could easily picture Rachel as some sort of toy canine, dressed in argyle and pastel colors; relentless and annoying everyone by yapping all the time about perfect pitch, nipping at their heels.

A Chihuahua. Rachel Berry was a Chihuahua. 

"Shut up!" Santana snapped, cutting her finger through the air and in the process silencing whatever chat Mercedes and Tina were in the middle of having. "It's ringing." 

Three breathless moments later, the expression on Santana's face went from a snarl to a smile so seductive it was actually a little frightening to witness. 

"Hey there, Jesse St. Superstar…." A voice smooth as honey husked out of her, and Quinn found herself arching a bemused brow at Mercedes at the about-face. "It's Santana. Lopez. From Glee. The CHEERLEADER," she snapped, before she glanced at Quinn and caught herself. "I was just here… messing around with Brittany, and we got to thinking about you." An olive-skinned hand reached out. Immediately, Brittany scooted forward, linking her pinkie and pressing into her side. 

"Hi," she whispered in the general direction of the phone, and twiddled her fingers at it. 

When Mercedes snorted, Santana's gaze swiveled, pinning her with a dangerous glare. The other girl flushed and shut up immediately. 

"So I was just thinking… just because we're not on the same team anymore doesn't mean we can't thank you. " Santana listened for a moment, and offered a dry, velvety laugh in response. "For what you did to Rachel Berry, our perpetual pain-in-the-neck. It's about time someone took her down a peg or two… I mean let's face it, Rachel's good, but I think we all knew who the true star of that little pairing was. Right. Exactly. I just wish there was some way we could show our appreciation. Mmm… I like how you think."

As if unconsciously, Santana's fingers began to thread through Brittany's, tangling them with such deliberate finesse it looked almost sexual. 

"What about this Friday? Well, we don't mind tagging along. Unless you think your Vocal Adrenaline buddies would mind if a couple Nationally Ranked Cheerios showed them how to have a really good time. Oh, a very good time." 

"I can touch the back of my feet to the back of my head," added Brittany, loudly, for the benefit of the phone. 

Across them, Tina crossed her legs tightly, looking so confused and uncomfortable and slightly intrigued it was almost amusing. 

"Mmmhmm. Can't wait. See you then, Rock Star." 

Santana hung up the phone and pressed it in against her cheek, looking absurdly pleased with herself. 

"That was disturbing," Mercedes snapped flatly. 

"That's your big revenge plan?" Quinn found herself asking dryly. "You're going to give him a threesome as a punishment?" 

"It'd scare the hell out of me," her friend muttered in response. 

Brittany's ponytail bobbed as she glanced toward them. "Santana and I don't have threesomes," she said matter-of-factly. "That's gross. You get them to buy you stuff and then just let them watch."

It was frightening how someone who came off like a Disney Cartoon could say things that made Quinn want to bathe herself in a tub of Ms. Pillbury's sanitizer. 

"It's a hook, idiot," Santana snapped. "To trap a man, nothing's easier than the promise of sex." Her eyes floated briefly down to Quinn's baby bump, and twinkled. "You should know." 

Quinn's palms pressed against her baby protectively. "And what, he fell for it? Just like that?" 

"He more than fell for it. We have an invitation to the very exclusive, invitation only, Vocal Adrenaline pre-Regionals house party at Jesse's place on Friday."

Santana looked so damn full of her slut self Quinn almost wanted to wring Jesse's neck for being so gullible about it all. 

He made it almost too damn easy. 

"And what do we do when we get there?" Tina asked, leaning forward. 

Santana's look back was withering. "YOU aren't coming. Brittany and I can take it from here." 

"No way." Quinn's voice was flat, final. "I told you we wanted in. That doesn't include just sitting in the choir room while you have phone sex with a guy to get him to meet you. We're going." 

"Quinn, you're pregnant, and we're slutty." Brittany shrugged. "It's better this way." 

"Like hell it is," Quinn shook her head, astonished at their own stupidity. "Don't you think he fell for it too easily?" 

"No," Santana said simply. "He's a guy. They never say no to me." 

"They really don't," Brittany agreed. They both nodded. 

The fact that Quinn couldn't think of one instance when that wasn't true was maddening. 

Mercedes snorted. "Do you guys like, leak pheromones or something?" 

"Look," she said hotly, "Even if you are slutty, Jesse's gotta be a little bit suspicious. How do you know they're not going to trap you instead? Think with your big head, Santana. You need back up, just in case. You need me." 

And Santana did. Quinn knew she knew it, too, because the girl actually had brains. Often, her smarts were overshadowed by her sheer lust for… well… everything, but Santana did have logic. And she knew that even though Santana was smart, Quinn was smarter. 

There was a reason Quinn had ruled even her. Quinn may have gone soft by Cheerio standards, but Quinn had played the game way too long not to be damn fantastic at it. 

She knew what she was doing. 

And on occasion, she had been crueler than Santana would ever think to be. 

And Quinn wanted to be cruel. She did. She wanted to get that power back. She wanted to feel anything but helpless and alone and stupid and ignored. 

More importantly, she wanted to be there when Jesse St. James got what was coming to him; what he damn near begged for the minute he shoved his curly hair into Glee Club and screwed with Rachel's heart, just because he was an entitled little bitch who thought he could. 

He had no idea who the hell he was messing with. 

Her eyes locked with Santana's, challenging and strong and everything she ever was. 

"Fine," Santana said finally, like there was even a question. "But you're waiting in the car. You can be like… the back up."

"We can get a van!" Brittany said, suddenly excited. "Like in 'Chuck'!" 

Quinn shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not going to wait in the car. I'm in this." 

"You will if you're serious about this. Not one of those boys is going to be amped on banging Juno, Quinn." Dark eyes studied her pregnant form, before a small smirk worked itself onto Santana's pretty features. "But if there's anyone with a preggo-girl fetish," she continued, head cocking, "We'll let you know."

There was urge, a remnant of her old self, that wanted so badly to snark back to her that her charms had worked just fine with Puck. 

A glance at Brittany, the way the other girl was so carefully smoothing her fingers up and down Santana's forearm, kept the words lodged in her throat. Quinn exhaled raggedly, and clenched her knuckles against the plastic chair, not wanting to understand why there was even an urge to censor herself.

"Oh, that reminds me. Mercedes?" 

Quinn jumped when she felt Mercedes' hand suddenly clutch hers, as if bracing herself. "What?" she asked. 

"Call Kurt. Take him shopping." 

Quinn blinked, momentarily thrown at the random suggestion, until the logic of it fell into place like a puzzle piece. 

Mercedes was still unsure. "Why?" 

"It's show choir," Santana drawled, like it was obvious. "And they're dancers. Half those boys are going to be gay." 

"It's true," she admitted, squeezing Mercedes' hand and nodding sagely. "Not even Brittany and Santana can seduce a gay guy. Though God knows, Britt tried," she added. 

Brittany just smiled. "Kurt's a total twink, and he's got really soft lips," she agreed affectionately. "I bet the boys will love him." 

"Wait…" Tina raised a hand timidly. "… just so I'm clear… our big revenge plan is to offer Jesse St. James and his friends a threesome, and use Kurt as back up bait? Doesn't that seem kinda… wrong?" 

"It doesn't matter," Quinn found herself answering. "This is war. We use every advantage we have. Including our token gay." When Santana chuckled, Quinn swiveled her head, catching her stare. "What?" 

What she saw was that same stare that Santana gave her, the one that seemed both familiar and terrifying. 

"Nothing," Santana responded. "It's just nice to see you again, Fabray." 

Brittany leaned in, confused. "Where'd she go?" 

Unnerved, Quinn couldn't help but wonder at the unexpected thrill, the validation at the words. 

She wouldn't ever be what she was, she knew that. 

But she was going to use what she knew, and she was going to do something good with it; avenge Rachel - what needed to be done. Like a superhero. 

Damn, sometimes it felt good to be a bitch. 

\--

"I need your help." 

Santana pressed against her locker, arms crossed and face devoid of any expression whatsoever. 

Grabbing hold of her science book, Quinn arched a bemused brow. 

"You're actually talking to me?" A sarcastic smile flitted across her lips. "In the hallways? People can see you, you know." 

Santana's head lifted, her gaze flitting around the hallway for a half second, before she gave up and shrugged, settling back against the paint-chipped metal. 

"Whatever, we won Nationals," she shrugged uncaringly, picking at a piece of lint on her uniform top. "Britt and I are untouchable right now." 

The statement, said without thought and full of confidence that bordered on conceit, caused a bittersweet ache. Quinn was suddenly filled with the memory of a year ago; standing on a podium, confetti dotting her hair and her arms around Santana, squealing at the top of her lungs, exhilarated and excited and a god-damn winner. 

Her smile faded, and her locker slammed shut. "What do you want?"

Santana studied her, before her breath rushed out and her eyes rolled. "Look, I get it, okay?" she said, frank and to the point. "I don't want you guys involved, but it's Glee Club and it's that 'one for all and all for one' crap. Whatever." 

"Is that your incredibly weird way of saying you're part of the team?" 

Santana's eyes narrowed. She ignored the question. "You used to be one of us. You know what's at stake. And Kurt? Okay, he's a Cheerio now so maybe he'll get it. But Mercedes and Tina? They'll screw this up in a heartbeat. You know it's true," Santana snapped, and Quinn, mouth open ready to defend her fellow outcasts, shut it again. "It's not that I don't like them," Santana said suddenly. "They're just… soft." 

Back pressing against her locker, Quinn hugged her books against her. "I'm not kicking them out of this. They need this as much as we do." 

They needed to feel powerful. To feel avenged. If Quinn had learned anything this year, it was that feeling helpless and unheard wasn't exclusive to Cheerios who lived in eternal fear of Coach Sylvester.

Santana, it seemed, had had no such epiphany. Instead, her gaze turned suspicious. "I don’t need this," she answered, voice hard, defensive. "But now that you've brought it up, why do you?" 

Quinn felt suddenly cornered. "What?" 

"Don't play stupid, Quinn. You may have fooled everyone with this new 'Saint Quinn' tripe you're spouting, but you and Rachel? It's like frenemies 101. So why the big campaign to avenge her?" 

"It's not about Rachel," she snapped hotly. "It's about the honor of Glee Club."

"Oh, God, really? I'm already bored." Santana sighed, eyes floating up into her head dramatically. "Fine, whatever. Just… do me a favor and manage the freaks." 

"Manage them?" she repeated, nearly a scoff. 

"Unlike me, they don't seem to remember what a bitch you were to them." Quinn's mouth flattened. "So use it. Keep them in line." 

The imagery that invoked was oddly of Quinn as a cattle rancher, on a horse with a whip, nudging Mercedes, Tina and Kurt along. 

She grimaced. "Fine. But do me a favor and don’t underestimate them. Use them." 

Santana's brow arched drolly. 

"Come on, Santana," she snapped. "Tina's got Artie and his AV stuff. Mercedes knows how to keep her head. You want them to be a part of the team, then let them be a part of it. " 

There was a moment of intense glaring, before the other girl finally sighed, and shrugged. 

"Okay," Quinn said, feeling oddly winded. 

Santana lingered, looking idly bored, until her attention moved from passing students to Quinn's belly. 

"I heard you're still giving it up." 

The statement, conversational and almost friendly, disconcerted Quinn. She glanced down at her belly, discovered that in her agitation, she had been rubbing at her daughter. 

"That's good," Santana said, before she could respond. "It's better for the kid. And better for you." Pushing off the locker, Santana walked away from her.


	2. She's Going to Smile to Make You Frown

_Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance._  
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War

\--

"Not that I'm not flattered to be asked to join the girls in this little revenge crusade, because, let's face it, my fellow brothers are idiots about this sort of thing, but I'm not wearing this." Kurt Hummell stared at himself through the full length mirror they had stolen from the drama department, looking horrified. "There is never an occasion for moose knuckle." 

Quinn frowned, head tilting as she inspected the pants. Kurt had a point; they were frighteningly tight. 

"Santana said to go slutty," Tina said, stubborn in her choice. 

Mercedes sighed, nodding sagely. "And boy does he look slutty. Hella slutty." She offered him a thumbs up. 

His mouth puckered, vaguely offended. "Look, I'm all for being objectified, but there is something to be said for playing it coy and not giving away the farm. I'm not wearing this." He took a step away from the mirror and grimaced. "I'll find something that doesn't turn me into a soprano." 

"You're already a soprano." 

"I'm a counter tenor," he corrected sharply. "With fantastic range." He took another step and whimpered as he limped. "And I'm getting the hell out of these pants before I sprain something." 

"Kurt-" Quinn began, fingers threading through her hair. 

He waved his hand sharply at her, brow arched in warning. "I'll wear something out of my already fabulously diverse collection." 

"No feathers," she said firmly. "And no corsets." 

"And not that skort thing either," Mercedes added. 

He faltered mid-step, looking crestfallen before turning his nose up at them both. "Hobble me, why don't you." 

With as much dignity as he could muster in the tight jeans, he shuffled toward the privacy screen. 

Quinn sighed, and carefully braced herself as she settled into a plastic chair. Mercedes eyed her, and quietly took a seat beside her. 

"Look, Quinn," she began hesitantly. "I'm not trying to be a Doubting Thomas here, but… are we sure this is the best way to handle this?" 

Quinn glanced at her sharply. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean… Santana and Brittany aren't exactly known for their brains," Mercedes said, shrugging as if she was sharing a well-known fact. "And we're banking a helluva lot on sex appeal and Kurt's flaming gayness." 

"Hey!" came a squeak from behind Kurt's decorated privacy screen. "I heard that!" 

"And we don't even know what Santana and Brittany are planning to do," Tina offered, coming forward. "… after they get in and do their seducing thing." 

"It's better if you don’t know," Quinn found herself muttered, shuddering once. "Believe me." When Tina and Mercedes both stared at her, unsure and not at all confident, Quinn heard a sudden voice in her head. Manage them.

Biting in a sigh, she smiled. "Look," she said, straightening up slightly. "I know you don't trust them, but trust me, okay? I was a Cheerio too. I know how to think like them, and that's how I know this is going to work." 

Mercedes' smile to her was bittersweet. 

"You're like a daywalker." The statement was so odd, Quinn could only stare at Tina. "You know, a half vampire-half-human?" Tina nodded, as if this was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make. "Cause you know, they're half vampire powers but they're human too. So they can like, walk in the day time. Like Blade. You know." When Quinn could only stare at her, Tina flushed and seemed to lose steam. "I just meant… you know… that you have all of the powers and none of the weaknesses. Or something." 

FREAK, Quinn felt herself respond intrinsically, and it made her wince. She forced a smile on her face, and to her surprise, it became genuine as soon as she said instead, "Thanks." 

Tina brightened, but thankfully Quinn was saved from any other lectures about vampires when the door burst open, and Rachel Berry strode into the choir room. 

God, it was almost scary how even the sight of Rachel made her want to curl her fingers and bite her cheek in distaste. And even with that kind of visceral reaction, it was impossible not to notice that the girl who walked in wasn't the same Rachel she knew and loved to loathe. 

This Rachel walked with a slump, eyes cast downward, outwardly brokenhearted and dramatic as hell about it. 

Seeing her bleed so openly, when not even Quinn's most vile quips could get more than a wince, was disconcerting. 

There had always been something reassuring about Rachel's narcissic confidence, her ability to bounce back no matter what tragedy was heaped up on her that particular week. 

"Oh!" Rachel's eyes were wide with surprise, taking in the group of them and the messy state of the choir room, piles of clothes on the piano and on most of the available plastic chairs. "What are you guys doing?" 

Tina looked like a panicked mouse. "… Fashion show?" she squeaked. 

"Yeah, Kurt and me went shopping," Mercedes responded as easily as she could. "He's trying to decide what to keep." 

"Oh…" Clutching at her sheet music, Rachel glanced down, then back up. "I was going to practice, but..." 

"But the room is being used," Quinn pointed out helpfully. 

"Right." Rachel nodded mechanically, and looked at them all with those damn puppy-dog eyes, begging to be invited to stay. "Maybe I can help? I've always been very fiscally responsible. I had my first broker when I was eight." 

"That would be fabulous," Kurt responded, finally coming out from behind the privacy screen, dressed in a slightly less tight pair of capris. "Except I don't know if you and I have quite the same taste." 

Rachel frowned, insecurity leaking from every pore, and it was almost painful to witness. "Maybe I can just watch?" 

Quinn lost patience. "Or maybe you can just leave?" 

Rachel's head jerked up, eyes locked on hers, looking sad and pathetic and everything that used to give Quinn such unexplainable joy. 

When Rachel's throat bobbed, her eyes shiny with unshed emotion as she turned to leave, Quinn felt her baby thump at her, give her such a kick she nearly winced. 

"You know?" Mercedes said pointedly in the quiet that followed, "Maybe trying to avenge Rachel shouldn't include making her feel like a pile of crap." 

"I agree. She's just so pathetic now it's just not fun anymore," Kurt said, but his eyes were somber. 

They were all looking at Quinn with something that looked like disappointment. 

It was maddening that she actually gave a damn. "What?" she spat. "We can't exactly include her in this." When Mercedes nodded pointedly to the door, she sighed. "Fine," she muttered, and pushed to her feet. 

\--

It had to be something like irony, to exit the choir room and discover Rachel Berry sitting morosely in almost the exact same spot that Quinn herself had been months ago, moments after Finn discovered the baby wasn't his. 

She had been so overwhelmed, so damn scared and stung and relieved that the lie was finally revealed, that it didn't seem to matter that it was Rachel that had been responsible for the outing. 

What seemed like a lifetime of unexplained loathing had been whittled down to a scared girl and another one beside her, trying to help and not knowing how. 

It had been one of the most honest moments of her life, and in that place, Quinn had no room for hating Rachel. 

The hate had come back quickly. When she had tried to do things on her own and discovered intentions meant nothing when you were homeless. When she had moved in with Puck and his mother looked at her with quiet rage and judgment, nothing like Finn's mother at all. When she traded one father, who was dumb but earnest, to another with a Mohawk who swore he loved her all along and wanted her and then when he realized that meant a big belly and gas and midnight cravings, grew bored and went back to his videogames and texting Santana. 

Rachel Berry, so proud of snagging Finn, had been easy to hate. 

Looking at her now, in Quinn's old spot, looking quietly devastated and so alone, Quinn wished it were that easy again. 

Fingers curling, she bounced her fists against her sides as she took a tentative forward. Rachel's head lifted, and her shiny eyes caught hers. 

The brilliant expression was so unexpected that Quinn was caught breathless. 

When Rachel broke the stare to flicker her focus back down to her swinging feet, Quinn discovered herself quietly relieved. 

Out of her element, she bit her lip and fought her grimace, taking the open spot beside Rachel. 

She couldn't think of one thing to say, and it was damn uncomfortable. 

"Jesse's an idiot," she blurted out, surprising even herself. Rachel's hair tented forward obscuring her face. Quinn's cheeks burned, unsure if she had been ignored or not. "He's going to get what's coming to him, trust me." 

A small, bitter laugh emanated from the shorter girl. "No he's not," Rachel said, voice low, flat. "Vocal Adrenaline is going to win Regionals, then they're going to win Nationals, and Jesse St. James will go to UCLA and then Broadway, and he'll become a star. He won't even think about me." 

It was so defeatist and depressed Quinn had an almost uncontrollable urge to grab Rachel's wrist and check her pulse, to make sure she hadn't been taken over by a brain dead zombie. 

"You know, you could make this easier for me by not making me want to ram a sock into your mouth." 

It was honest and that, at least, got her attention. Rachel's head jerked up, her eyes locked onto Quinn's face in surprise. 

When Quinn unapologetically stared back, Rachel did something that was almost charming. She began to smile. 

"That's funny to you?" Quinn asked, somehow frustrated and bemused. "Really?" 

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, a chuckle escaping before she could help it. She slapped her palm over her mouth, and then lowered it. "It's just… in terms of people trying to cheer me up, that's definitely been one of the most creative." 

Quinn's brow quirked, curiosity piqued. "There's been attempts?" 

"Artie offered to film me doing a song from Wicked," she admitted. "Expressing my internalized rage through Elphaba's defeated struggle was quite therapeutic. Finn keeps offering me candy. I don't know if that's code for something. And Brittany…" Rachel trailed off, as the tips of her ears grew pink, her face flushed. 

"What?" 

"Brittany kissed me." 

Quinn guffawed unattractively, unable to hide her surprise. Rachel's eyes twinkled at her, and Quinn found herself laughing in disbelief. 

"You're kidding." 

"No… she cornered me in the bathroom and quoted something about foraging the enemy and using a conquered foe to augment strength, and then stuck her tongue down my throat." 

It was frightening that immediately, the reference quote came to mind in its entirety, drilled into her head by one Sue Sylvester: Bring war material with you from home, but forage on the enemy... use the conquered foe to augment one's own strength.

"Um…wow." 

"It scared the crap out of me," Rachel commented. "But she was very sweet about it. And Brittany's actually a really good kisser. Santana and the entire male population of McKinley are very lucky." 

The offhand comment, said with all the sincerity Rachel could muster, caused an unintended snort. 

"Seriously?" 

Rachel's brows came together in confusion. "What?" 

"Brittany and Santana," Quinn snapped, before she could help herself. "Don't tell me you understand it." 

Rachel looked just lost. "What's there to understand?" 

"It's weird," Quinn insisted. "Not to mention, just a little bit twisted. They've slept with or made out with like… the entire school but everyone's acting like they're the most adorable thing since… Bert and Ernie." 

"Well, they obviously care about each other," Rachel said, always diplomatic. "It's sweet." 

"Sweet? Being a Herpes infested bicycle is sweet?" 

Rachel shrugged. "They love each other. Like, really care about each other. And no matter what I think Santana's capable of, I can't ever imagine her doing to Brittany what Jesse did to me." Her somber eyes met hers. " Can you?" 

Quinn stared at her, into dark eyes and a frank look, and suddenly her mind was dotted with images, stolen moments and obvious ones, where with linked pinkies and matching bracelets, and adoring smiles, Brittany and Santana made their devotion to each other clear and undisputed. 

No, Santana would never betray Brittany. No matter what. Their friendship, or whatever the hell it was, was unquestioned, no matter who they made out with, who they 'dated', everyone knew that Brittany was Santana's, and Santana's was Brittany's. 

Her head lowered, and though she didn't respond, she knew Rachel had seen her acceptance. 

"And maybe…" Beside her, Rachel hesitated. "Maybe that's enough. Maybe… maybe that's what true love is supposed to look like." 

She snorted before she could help herself. "True love looks like a pair of slutty cheerleaders?" 

Rachel smiled, small and kind of beautiful. "Or a goth girl and a boy in a wheel chair," she said quietly. Quinn sobered, her eyes flitting to the choir room. "Maybe it's in the unexpected. " Her shoulders came up in a shrug. "Maybe the people you think you should love aren't the right persons at all." 

Because Rachel had wanted that for herself. Quinn knew it. As badly as Quinn had wanted Finn for the picture perfect image of the homecoming king and queen, Puck for his image of the bad boy gone good, Rachel had wanted Jesse for their leading lady and leading man perfection, Finn for the exact same reason.

And expectation, Quinn realized, did have a way of screwing you. 

God, it sucked to have something in common with Rachel Berry beyond mutual ex-boyfriends. 

The hallway was quiet, and thick with self reflection. Quinn, sitting closer to Rachel Berry than she thought she could ever stand, felt fingers brush against hers, Rachel shifting in her seat. 

When Rachel pushed off and away from her, Quinn felt oddly thrown. "Thanks," Rachel said, looking shy and sincere. 

Quinn stared, locked in a sudden moment of introspection, amazed to discover that at this moment, Rachel Berry was just a girl.

A sad girl, lost and thrown by life's unexpected journeys and unfulfilled promises. 

Just like her. 

"So… listening to Kurt whine about the difference between cerulean blue and cobalt is giving me a headache," she found herself saying. "And my baby cravings have me really wanting an ice cream. Wanna join me?" 

When Rachel smiled, nodded so quickly she looked like a bobble head, Quinn sucked in her breath.

She felt like a superhero.

\--

That evening, standing in front of the mirror in Mercedes' spare bedroom, palms pressed against her stomach, a lump that seemed to grow both bigger and heavier with each passing day, Quinn wondered what it would feel like, when this was over. 

Would she even recognize herself? 

It had been months since there had been a life growing inside her, and pregnancy sucked, but there was also that other part of it. The part where this was her baby, and she read to her and talked to her, and when she was unsure, held her palms against her belly, soothing away the bumps and movement that told her that the baby was alive and responding and that Quinn wasn't alone. 

A soft rap of the door alerted her to Mercedes, who poked her head in and offered a nervous, excited smile. "Artie and Tina are here. You ready?" 

Quinn's answering grin faltered when Mercedes opened the door, and she saw her chosen outfit. 

"What are you wearing?" 

Mercedes glanced down at her ensemble; head to toe black, with a black ski mask in her gloved hands. "What? I gotta blend in." 

"You realize you're going to be sitting in a van the whole night. You'll have to blend in with the carpet." 

"Whatever. Let's go." 

After another glance in the mirror, and a slow exhalation, Quinn grabbed her purse and followed Mercedes downstairs. 

In the foyer, Kurt smiled at her, arms thrown wide to his sides as he struck a pose. "Tell me I'm gorgeous." 

The tailored black suit, elegant with the thin tie that hung from his neck, put together a picture of an absolutely stunning Kurt Hummel. Quinn's eyes flickered down the length of him. 

"You're gorgeous," she repeated, a breathless smile overtaking her face. "You're going to blow those boys away."

He grinned back, preening like a well-dressed peacock. "Just call me a femme fatale. The suit is Calvin Klein, the tie is Ted Baker, and the cuff links," he tugged lightly at his wrist, letting the pink-hued studs twinkle at her. "Are Mont Blanc. Bought at a consignment store," he winked and placed his finger playfully against his pursed lips. "Don't tell anyone." 

"Our lips are sealed," Mercedes said, throwing Quinn an exasperated look as she shoved him toward the door. "Come on. They're waiting." 

Kurt glanced back at her and winked. Quinn found herself laughing despite herself. 

The laughter was cut short immediately when the door to Artie's old van opened and she discovered the boy staring at her with dark-rimmed eyes and what looked like black smudge coloring his cheeks.

Beside her, Mercedes gawked. "Oh, hell no." 

Quinn stared in astonishment. "Seriously? We're not robbing a bank." 

"What?" Artie plucked at his black sweater. "Mercedes said to be discreet." 

"Turning yourself into a raccoon is discreet?" Kurt asked, voice dry with abject horror. 

"I don’t know what you're talking about," Tina said from the driver's seat. "This is what I wear every day." 

That was true enough. Even down to the ski mask, looking like a Harajuku-inspired thug was Tina's staple look. 

Sucking in her breath, Quinn waved her hands. "Fine, let's just go. Santana and Brittany are waiting." 

As she settled in a cramped seat, Kurt began fiddling with a snow white waist coat. 

"Too much?" he asked. 

Quinn mentally counted to ten, and said as patiently as she could, "Kurt, we're going to a house party. With teenagers. There will probably be beer. And finger foods. And no napkins. Stuff will get spilled." 

The color drained off Kurt's face so quickly he looked like a ghost. "I see your point," he squeaked. "I should have brought hand sanitizer and a Tide Bleach Pen."

Battling a sudden headache, Quinn closed her eyes. 

There was at least one upside to being surrounded by friends who happened to be freaks. The look on Santana's face when she saw their little rag tag band was bound to be priceless. 

\--

Upon opening the van door and getting a good look, Santana Lopez was apparently filled with so much horror, all that came out of her tramp-colored mouth was some kind of undignified squawk. 

Brittany, hair down and tumbling down her shoulders in wispy curls, waved and smiled. "Hi guys. Artie, you've got something on your face." 

Quinn bit down on her smile, lowering herself carefully out of the van. "Don’t ask," she said immediately, when Santana shot her an accusatory murderous look. "And they're not even getting out of the van." 

"Kurt looks pretty," Brittany said, almost starry-eyed as Kurt hopped out of the van, rubbing Artie's lint brush down his trousers. 

"Thank you, Brittany." Kurt wiped imaginary dust off his jacket, before inspecting the Cheerios. "You look… easy." 

Only Brittany would ever take that as a compliment. The blonde girl smiled brightly, and smoothed her hands down her skin tight pants and halter. 

"That's the point, Jack-Ass," Santana sputtered. In her miniskirt, stilettos and Planet Funk tank, she reminded Quinn of high class hooker. "Let's get going." 

"Uh, hello?" Artie poked his finger out of the open door. "Not quite yet." 

Santana's brow furrowed in confusion, but Artie didn't waste a second before holding up a small pin. "Mini video camera. It feeds directly to my monitor," he said, head jerking back to the pile of electronics placed on a small table behind him. "We can keep track of everything." 

Santana stared at it like it was a bug, but after a moment, reached out and grabbed it. "Fine." 

"And here." Tina held out a pile of small black trinkets. "Put these in your ear, and you can hear us." 

"Why the hell would I want you guys in my head?" 

When three sets of eyes flickered to Quinn, she found herself shrugging. "She's got a point." 

"The point is to be in communication at all times," Artie said, surprisingly firm. "That's why you asked me for help, right?" 

"Actually, we didn't," Santana felt the need to correct. "We asked your girlfriend." 

He pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned at her. "Regardless, here- put these in your mouth. They set over your molar and then we can hear whatever you're saying." 

"Especially if a cool jam starts playing on the radio," Mercedes added, and began to dance a little in her seat, chuckling softly with Tina. 

"Oh, God. Where did you even get these?"

"Skymall." 

Brittany grabbed hold of the small plastic chip and inspected it. "I feel like a Charlie's Angel," she whispered excitedly to Santana. 

"Santana," Quinn interjected, quiet and calm. When the other girl looked at her, she arched a knowing brow. "You shouldn't go in blind." 

The battle that waged inside Santana between the eternally lame and the practical finally settled itself. 

"FINE," she said, eyes rolling dramatically as she snatched the items from Artie. "But you guys better keep your mouths shut when I'm in there. I'm good, but even I can't be sexy with you guys yammering on in my head." 

"Deal, "Mercedes said, an excited smile illuminating her face."I can't believe we're actually doing this. Kurt, see if you can sneak us some beer!" 

Santana's eyes narrowed. "Anyway, the plan is simple: Britt, Kurt and I go in. Kurt is our man meat. He distracts the boys and every little fag hag in there, Britt and I corner Jesse, get him drunk, get him alone, and get him out of the house before he passes out." She paused, and then turned to Brittany, who was struggling to get the angle of the molar mike in her mouth. "Britt?" 

"Yeah?" Brittany asked. 

"What are we NOT doing?" 

Brittany frowned, and brought the mike out of her mouth. "We're not telling him this is a plan." 

"And what else?" 

She sighed. "We're not making out with him for reals." 

"Right. And why are we not making out with him?" 

"Because he already made out with Rachel and that's gross." Brittany frowned. "But Rachel's a good kisser." She stuck the mike back in her mouth, and immediately choked. "I swallowed it," she said breathlessly. 

Mercedes snorted, and Kurt frowned, looking vaguely ill. 

"Okay," Artie said, forcing a grim smile as he reached for Brittany. "Let me do the next one. And you owe me fifty bucks." 

The night had quickly grown chilly. Quinn, in her sweater and jacket, shivered. Santana, bare armed, rubbed her hands distractedly over biceps, goosebumps visible under the light given to them from the street lamp. With her hair down, she looked like a different person. 

The sight of Santana, alone on the curb, watching quietly as the group fussed over Brittany, was somehow sobering. 

Sucking in a soldiering breath, Quinn moved to her side. 

"What?" Santana asked, word sharp despite her chattering teeth. 

Quinn's father had been a proud man. He had never apologized for one single thing. Even when he was wrong, he always found a reason for it. Someone else to blame. 

Quinn didn't know who she was. Who she was going to be. 

But she knew exactly who she never wanted to become. 

"I'm sorry," she said, words choking as they came from her throat. 

Santana stiffened slightly. Her head didn't turn, but her eyes did, flitting from her back to Brittany before she muttered, "Clearly." After a moment, she sighed. "Fine. What are you sorry about?" 

Brittany, mouth open and saying 'ahhhh' like Artie was checking her tonsils, waved at them both. 

"For not understanding about you and Brittany." 

Santana's head whipped around, dark eyes wide and startled, staring into Quinn's face with something that almost resembled the Santana that had been her friend. For one quick second, the fear was there, of being judged, of being ostracized, of Quinn for having the power to do exactly that. 

Just as quickly, Santana caught herself and the expression hardened; went cold. 

"Whatever," she said, eyes floating back to the van. "It's not like we're looking for your approval." 

Not anymore, was the silent addition. Quinn's smile was bittersweet. "I know. But … I did things. I judged you. I tried to keep you apart." A muscle in Santana's jaw ticked. "I shouldn't of. I didn't understand-" 

"You know why you didn't get it?" Santana suddenly turned, dark eyes piercing hers in an angry stare. "Why you never will?" She stepped forward, voice lowered, but firm. "Because in your life, you've never loved someone more than you love yourself. Every relationship you've ever had has been about using someone. Seeing what they can get you." Her eyes floated meaningfully at Quinn's stomach. "That's why you're never gonna have what we have, Quinn." She shrugged, and stepped away from her, dismissing her. "That's why you'll never get it. Let's go," she said, voice louder now. "It's getting late." 

Frozen in place, Quinn couldn't move, only watch in numb shock as Brittany scrambled out of the van and reached for Santana's palm, linking pinkies as Kurt followed them down the street, towards the large, imposing house that belonged to Jesse St. James. 

\--

The sounds of a party in full swing sounded almost fake and hollow when they drifted from Artie's tiny monitor speakers. 

Images from the tiny pin Santana wore were full of noise and the movements were jerky, but the group in the van stayed glued to the screen as if it were a soap opera during sweeps. 

Quinn felt fat, bloated. Her palm smoothed in a circle over her belly, but her baby stayed quiet, refusing to offer any sort of comfort to her frayed senses. 

Her vision went blurry, and Quinn sucked in her breath with a hiss, blinking back the tears valiantly, trying hard to stop them before they spilled over onto her cheeks. 

Beside her, Mercedes shifted, leaning into her. "I can't believe they're actually inside! Did you see the look on Jesse's face? He so thinks he's getting laid!" Her excited smile faltered when she glanced at Quinn's expression. "Hey girl, you okay?" 

Quinn felt her lip tremble. She bit down on it to stop it. "Do you think I'm a horrible person?"

Mercedes frowned, thrown by the question. "Why would you ask me something like that? You know I don't." 

Quinn rolled her eyes, huffing in exasperation. "Not now," she sniffed. "Before. Before all… this." Her hand waved to her pregnant belly, her maternity clothes, her hair, down and soft. 

"What does it matter?" she asked. "You're not her anymore." 

"What if I am?" she asked, insistent, suddenly terrified. "What if I am that person, and this baby is the only thing that's … making me human?" 

"Then you'd be like Darla from Angel," Tina said immediately. "She was a vampire and had no soul, and then she got pregnant and –" At their blank stares, she flushed. "Sorry." Her eyes widened at the screen. "Oh, my God! Did that guy just give Kurt a beer?!" 

Mercedes launched forward, shoving Tina out of the way. "Don't drink it, Kurt! It might have roofies!" 

Eyes shutting tightly, Quinn sucked in her breath, hands wrinkling in the fabric of her dress. 

"Oh my God, you guys SHUT UP." Santana's hiss spewed over the speakers like venom. "Kurt, drink the damn beer. You look like you just farted."

"It tastes bad!" 

"It's BEER!" 

"It helps if you chug it," was Brittany's advice. "Here, I'll show you-" 

"Chug it!" Artie chanted. "CHUG IT!" 

"Do NOT chug it-" Santana's warning went ignored, and through blurry vision, Quinn saw both Brittany and Kurt tilting brimming frothy glasses into their mouths. "Goddammit." 

Around them, a crowd of Vocal Adrenaline kids began to hoot and holler.

The noise seemed overwhelming. Mercedes, Tina and Artie pressed together, shoulder to shoulder to watch the monitor and behind them, Quinn felt suddenly suffocated. 

She was too big, too fat, too helpless, too selfish, too lost…

Eyes stinging, unable to breathe, Quinn fumbled against the van, stumbling until she could fall into the front passenger seat. 

The windows were fogged over, the air was chilly, but Quinn didn't care as she muffled her sobs, wiped hastily at her tears, quietly devastated. 

"Keg stand!" some random kid yelled. "Let's go!"

Quinn's arms crossed, hugging herself tightly as she leaned back in the seat and listened without focus to the noise from the back of the van. 

"I bet I can do a keg-stand in a splits." 

"Brittany, not now-" 

Her eyes drifted to the dark street, gaze lingering on the dark house, until a figure passed the van, heading towards it. 

Quinn sighed, barely paid it any attention until she felt her heart seize and she did a double take. 

"Oh, crap!" she snapped. "You guys!" 

"Maybe Kurt should stop chugging beers." 

"Did you see the guy that gave it to him?" 

"YOU GUYS!" she shouted, swiveling in her seat and snapping her fingers. "What the HELL is Rachel Berry doing here?!" 

The commentary between the trio stopped immediately. They stared at her, uncomprehending, until she pointed frantically to the street. 

It finally sunk in. "Oh shit!" Mercedes hissed, scrambling to the front, nearly tripping over Artie's chair. "It's really her!" 

"Um… Santana? I realize you've got your hands full trying to get Brittany off the keg, but we have a mayday. I repeat, a MAYDAY! Rachel is here!" Artie shoved his glasses up his nose. "I repeat, the DIVA IS HEADING FOR THE BUILDING." 

"What the hell is Rachel doing here?!" Santana hissed. 

Heart in her throat, Quinn watched as Rachel tentatively moved toward the house, then paused and took a step back. 

"We need to teach this girl some self respect!" Mercedes snarled. "What the hell?!" 

"Santana?!" 

There was a flutter of noise, almost indistinguishable now that the music was blasting and the beer was beginning to flow. 

"Okay," they finally heard, increased aggravation in Santana's voice. "Brittany has swallowed her molar mike, AGAIN. And apparently she invited her." 

"What?!" 

Rachel straightened, smoothed out her pleats, and began to head up the walk. 

"… Rachel found out we were all going to a party tonight, and Brittany didn't want her to feel left out." Tina sighed loudly. "Look, I know, okay!? Just STOP her before someone recognizes her and RUINS EVERYTHING. NOW!" 

Quinn fumbled for the door, snapping the lever and nearly falling out of the passenger side door. Jogging caused entirely too much baby bouncing, so she quickly began to speed walk, pivoting up the driveway and moving fast. 

She reached out and slapped her hand over Rachel's mouth, jerking back just as the other girl had reached out towards the door bell. 

She got there a second too late. The gong rang, loud and intrusive. 

Rachel's shriek was muffled, but covering her mouth did nothing to stop Rachel's panicked assault. Tiny teeth jammed into her fingers, biting down hard. Quinn hissed, but kept her grip, dragging Rachel back down the porch stairs and to the side of the house, slamming her tightly against it. 

Holding Rachel against her with as much strength as she could muster, she ignored the struggling. "It's Quinn!" she hissed into Rachel's ear. The furious fighting ceased immediately. Dark eyes, wide with panic, immediately narrowed as the gagged head turned in her direction. Quinn only held her tighter, keeping Rachel plastered against her as she tried to blend into the shadows. "Shut. Up." 

Rachel was panting hard, still not quite over her fright, but for once, she obeyed. 

Quinn's heart beat fast, almost too fast. Her baby, sensing the adrenaline, poked at her, thumping against the weight of Rachel, and Quinn swallowed, willing her to calm down. 

Light flooded the porch as the door opened, and with it came the sounds of music, spilling onto the street. 

Quinn swallowed, and squeezed Rachel tighter. 

"Jesse?" Santana, voice sweet and syrupy, drifted out. "Who was it?" 

"Some kid pranker, I think." Jesse. Quinn felt Rachel stiffen against her, and she closed her eyes, tilting forward, mouth brushing against her as she quietly whispered at Rachel to stop. "There's a ton of little brats on this street who know they'll never reach my level of talent and react out of bitterness. Let's go back inside." 

A long moment later, the door shut. 

Suddenly dizzy, Quinn fell into harsh pants, eyes fluttering with relief, forehead falling against the back of Rachel's head. 

Fingers pulled at hers, ripping her hand away from Rachel's mouth. Quinn jerked her head up, realized suddenly how tightly she had been clutching Rachel when the girl swiveled away from her. Rachel eyed her with wet orbs and a lost expression that quickly drifted into mutinous anger. 

"What is going on?" she said, voice a fierce tremble, as if she was almost afraid to find out. 

Devoid of adrenaline, Quinn found she hardly had the strength to push herself off of Jesse's house. Helpless, heavy, she rubbed at her fluttering belly and glanced back towards the porch. 

"Quinn." 

"I'll tell you, okay?" she said quickly in a rush of impatience and exhaustion. "But first we have to get away from the house before anyone recognizes us. Rachel," Quinn said when Rachel shifted on her feet, ready to argue. "Seriously." 

The other girl's expression was half hidden by shadow, but Quinn could sense the heat in Rachel's body, anger and stiffness that indicated confusion and betrayal and not much else. 

"Just trust me," she said, and knew there was nothing more than a shared ice cream that afternoon that Rachel could use as collateral behind that. 

When after a moment, Rachel gave the slightest of nods, Quinn felt her chest constrict with unshed emotion. 

Gathering her strength, she shoved against the brick. "Come on."


	3. She's Going To Play You For A Fool

_Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated._  
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War

\--

Quinn Fabray never thought their plan sounded stupid until she found herself trying to explain it to Rachel Berry on a dark street, two houses down from the house party of one Jesse St. James, currently being infiltrated by three Cheerios. 

Rachel, normally so expressive she resembled a CareBear, was quiet, arms crossed, posture stiff, looking at Quinn with such scrutiny and trepidation it was unnerving. 

After another thirty seconds of total silence, Quinn found her patience waning. "Will you open your mouth and say something please? You can talk. Usually we can't shut you up." 

Rachel's throat swallowed visibly. She glanced away, towards the black van that sat on the curb. 

"So… when you said Jesse was going to get what was coming to him…. You meant this. This was a plan. To avenge me. My… honor." 

Rachel said it so dramatically, and Quinn found herself shifting, flushing with embarrassment. 

"It's for the honor of the Glee Club," she snapped, threading her fingers through her hair, feeling like an idiot. "Jesse messed with all of us." 

A momentary crestfallen expression flitted across Rachel's face, before the other girl nodded. "Right." 

Why the hell did Rachel Berry have to act like everything was going on a damned Emmy Reel? 

With a frustrated sigh, she reached forward, grabbing hold of her and shoving lightly at her shoulder. "Come on." As she fell into step beside her, she took notice of the pleated skirt, the fuzzy sweater. "Was that really what you were going to wear to a party?" 

Rachel's steps faltered, glancing down self consciously. "What?" 

Let it go, she thought helplessly. Some things are beyond hopeless. "Nothing. It's fine. It's…" she gritted her teeth and forced out the word. "Pretty." 

Rachel practically blinded her with her smile. "Thank you!" Rachel dutifully inspected her jacket and leggings. "I like your… shoes." 

Good god. 

She reached forward, rapping harder on the van door than she might have needed to.

When the door slid open, Mercedes' brow was very nearly buried in her forehead. "Hi, Rachel." 

"Hi." 

"What's going on?" Quinn asked. 

"Oh my God," Mercedes said, head shaking in defeat. "Brittany has invented some new game that involves chugging a beer and then doing back hand springs. There's a whole tournament going on. And she's winning! Funnily enough? Drunk Brittany doesn't act a whole lot different than Sober Brittany. Kinda scary but it makes sense, right?" 

"What on earth does that have to do with getting Jesse alone and drunk?" she asked. 

"Nothing. Well, I mean she got the drunk thing done, but Santana won't go upstairs without Brittany and now Jesse keeps singing showtunes and telling Santana to help him decide which way to part his hair; something about the curls and the way the gel shines in the spotlight." 

Beside her, Quinn could feel Rachel waver, a slight tremble in her body at the mention of Jesse St. James. Without thinking, she reached out, smoothing down Rachel's sweater and grabbing hold of her hand. 

She wasn't even aware of her impulsive action until Rachel's fingers tangled with hers, gripping tight. 

"Also, we can't find Kurt," Tina said. "But he's had at least four beers, and when he does talk, he keeps crying about Bambi and telling some guy he looks like Simba from the Lion King." 

"Get in," Artie said, waving at them. "Someone might see us." 

Climbing in and out of the back of a van heavily pregnant wasn't easy, and reaching forward to Tina's hand for help, Quinn felt like a whale dragging a dolphin, pulling Rachel in with her. 

"How you doing, girl?" Mercedes' smile was sweet, hand reaching up to smooth down Rachel's nape. "You okay?" 

Rachel's smile trembled at the kindness. "Not that I don't appreciate that you did this for me, really, but… " 

"Don’t thank us yet," Artie said, his face grim. "Santana's fool-proof plan has hit a serious detour." 

"-Don't you see? His daddy DIED. He DIED and it was SO sad. It was SO SAD." 

"Maybe we should try to get Kurt," Mercedes said, now visibly worried for their drunken friend. 

"Don't be an idiot," Santana snapped, voice scratchy over the noise of the party. "Do you think any of these assholes will let you guys in without pantsing you and throwing you into the pool?" 

"She has a point," Artie mumbled. 

"Of course I do. Now shut up." Santana's pin focused on a rather rosy-cheeked Jesse St. James, who stumbled toward her and held out another cup of beer, half full and spilling over the floor thanks to his jerky, inebriated movements. His floppy brown hair had fallen into his eyes, and the smile on his face seemed too-wide, like a cartoon. "Thank you, baby." 

"So what I was saying was, that is the downfall of 'The Wedding Singer' and all the movie-turned-musical genre!" he slurred. "The relatability is there, but the real genius is behind recreating the characters and allowing the emotion to be truly captured in the movements! Take for example 'Legally Blonde'. Where it failed-" 

Quinn winced when nails dug into her palm; an indrawn hiss sucked in beside her, and suddenly Rachel was fumbling for the door, jerking it open.

"Rachel!" she hissed. "Get back here!" 

But the girl was already out, slamming the door closed. Eyes rolling in exasperation, Quinn moved fast. "Text me if anything changes. I'm going to go manage the freak." 

By the time she managed to lumber out of the van, Rachel was already stalking toward the house, looking like a little Nazi soldier with her perfect stride and tiny curled fists. 

"RACHEL," she snapped. "Stop!" 

Rachel didn't. She got all the way to the driveway before she stamped her foot. "Legally Blonde was NOT A FAILURE!" she screamed at the house. "It grossed more than one million dollars a week at times! Laura Bell Bundy is a phenomenon and her rendition of 'So Much Better' should have won her the Tony, you curly-haired egotistic … SNAKE!" 

Quinn froze. Rachel's voice, though earsplittingly loud, made no impact on the even louder sounds of music and shouts that emanated from Jesse's residence. 

The lack of response, the hopelessness of it all, seemed to finally hit Rachel. The stiff shoulders suddenly slumped, and Rachel Berry had never looked so small, so alone. 

Breath catching, Quinn stepped forward – tentative, as if she were walking on glass. When her hand reached out, slowly pressed against the smaller girl's shoulder, she heard a hiss, felt a jerk. 

Rachel's glistening eyes caught hers for only a moment, before Rachel broke the stare, ashamed. 

God. Quinn inhaled, and her grip firmed. "Come on," she said, more gently than she expected, low and careful. She pulled lightly. Rachel, head lowered and eyes on the cement, didn't move. 

The chill had begun to seep into Quinn. She glanced helplessly to the van. "Aren't you cold?"

Rachel shivered, but her head shook slowly. "No," she said softly. "I mean… I know it's cold but somehow I don't even feel it." Her head lifted, brilliant eyes catching hers with genuine uncertainty. "Isn't that strange?" 

Quinn pressed her lips together, but said nothing. 

Rachel exhaled, her breath a tiny visible puff of condensation. Suddenly she trembled, rubbing at her arms furiously. "Okay, now I'm cold." 

Quinn nodded, ready to move when Rachel's hand lightly reached out to touch her. When she turned, Rachel pulled back quickly. "Can we…" Rachel swallowed, her smile shaky. "Can we not go back to the van? I just… I can't." 

Under normal circumstances, Quinn wouldn't tolerate this. She was pregnant and it was freezing, and the last thing in the world she wanted to be doing was play Rachel Berry's minder. 

But God, none of this was normal. 

This was some version of the Twilight Zone, where a very pregnant Quinn Fabray was hiding outside of a party with a van full of McKinley's High's Glee Club losers, instead of being in the center of it, buzzed and sitting on Finn Hudson's lap, laughing and dancing with her best friend Santana Lopez. 

Her feet suddenly felt heavy, and when she looked at Rachel, she saw a silent pleading, that made it impossible to say no. 

"Fine," she said, and walked towards the curb, settling in and zipping herself into her parka. 

After a moment, Rachel settled down next to her, shivering in her sweater and skirt. 

Quinn bit her lip, considered her sensibilities, and then shook her head, scooting over until she was pressed into Rachel's side, lending her her warmth. 

Rachel leaned in, but only slightly. 

The street where Jesse lived was privileged and dark, dotted with BMWs and Audis and a collection of Range Rovers. Jesse's house seemed to be the only one alive, sounds of music and shouting drifting out of it, moving down the long driveway to where the two of them sat. 

Even so, it felt like there was no one in the world but she and Rachel, sitting on a cold cement curb, quiet and somber. 

Rachel, of course, was the one to break the silence. 

"You know," she began, voice soft and melodic even when she wasn't singing. "Mr. Schuester once told me that I would find a guy that would love me not just in spite of all my faults, but because of them." Her breath floated in the air, like little puffs of smoke. " I didn't really believe him, until I found Jesse." Her mouth quirked into a fatally sad smile. "I thought he was that guy. And now I feel like an idiot." 

The statement was so profoundly Rachel, and yet so damn normal that Quinn couldn't help but smile in irritation and commiseration. "You're not the first girl who's been fooled by a guy, Rachel." Her palms pressed at her belly thoughtfully. "At least it took more than a few wine coolers and a guy saying you weren't fat for you to fall for it." 

She could feel Rachel's stare burning into the side of her face, could feel it in the way Rachel shifted beside her, knees knocking against hers. 

"For what it's worth… I think Puck really cares about you." 

The anger that rose was brief. It faded away as quickly as it had come. It seemed that Quinn just didn't have the energy for it. She found herself laughing lightly, bitterly. "Please. He loves this baby. Or thinks he does. That's it." 

"No." Rachel sounded so damn confident. So damn sure. "Really. I saw it. When Puck and I were dating…" Quinn's eyelid fluttered, remembering suddenly a charming Puck, plucking on his damn guitar, gravely voice directed at Rachel Berry. "For however brief that was… " 

She sucked in her breath, cheeks flushing as her patience snapped. "I don't want to hear about it." Her head jerked, eyes narrowed as she took in the other girl, her damn rival. "Seriously. And," she continued, because never could just assume with Rachel the Motormouth. "While we're on the subject, I don't want to hear about Finn either, okay? Just preemptively? Any guys we may have both made out with? I don't want to talk about them with you. Ever." 

She wasn't sure how the lingering glare became some sort of intense staring contest, but in the midst of it, she discovered freckles peppered across Rachel's face, illuminated by moonlight. 

Suddenly uncomfortable, Quinn turned away, focused on a black cat scuttling across the street. Beside her, Rachel sighed. 

"That's fair." Then, "Can I ask you something?" 

She was suddenly exhausted. She wanted to be home, with Mercedes, in her spare room, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping on her brother's lumpy mattress. Anywhere but sitting on a curb with Rachel Berry, feeling twitchy and freezing everywhere but where Rachel was pressed against her. 

For some reason, that part scorched. 

"What?" 

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel shifted against her. Quinn bit her lip. Goosebumps prickled on her skin. "You don't like me, Quinn, I've always known that." A small gasp of a chuckle came from Rachel. "The whole school knows that." 

Her cheeks burned, and she fumbled with her zipper, suddenly sweaty. "I told you," she bit. "Glee Club. Honor." She was damn near stammering now, and it felt ridiculous. "It's just… you know… super heroes," she ended up blurting. 

Rachel's stare was wide and confused, like she was some sort of alien. 

Quinn winced, annoyed with herself, with Rachel – with the whole universe. "Nevermind. It's stupid." 

Inside her jacket, she began to hear a buzz, and it was a near godsend. Quinn shifted, trying to dig into the deep pockets. 

"Well, whatever the reason, I do appreciate it. Thank you, Quinn." 

Quinn didn't bother responding. It wasn't a Hallmark Moment, and it was never going to be. Not with her and Rachel. Not if she had anything to do with it.

Her icy fingers fumbled, until she found her phone and pulled it out. 

The text was from Mercedes: Brittany has started a spin the bottle game and she's made out with like… five girls and ten guys, and Kurt's locked himself in the bathroom because some Vocal Adrenaline girl got him. Santana's ready to pull her hair out. And she's lost Jesse. 

Quinn sighed, eyes closing. "Great." Unsure of what else to do, she stuck the phone back in her pocket. "Did you really love Jesse?" 

The question came out like some sort of Turret's. It startled Rachel; her mouth opened and closed and opened again, before eyelashes fluttered and she exhaled, fingers futzing with the shoelaces on her Mary Janes. 

"I thought I did," came the soft answer. "Maybe I didn't." Rachel's hair, glossy and thick, fell off her shoulders as Rachel's head dipped. "I don't know. I thought I loved Finn, too." 

The way it sounded, so unsure and almost bitter, stroked Quinn's own morbid curiosity. Because she had been witness to Rachel and Finn's little dance, to her own disgust. Finn's longing looks, his frankenstein-ish dancing as he whined about 'Jessie's Girl'. 

From Rachel chasing him to Finn's stupidity with Brittany and Santana, to Jesse and back again, and Quinn had hated every minute of it. Circling the drain, like it was inevitable. 

"Do you love Finn?" 

Rachel's head turned, eyes catching hers. "I don't know," Rachel said, and it seemed honest. "It just all seems … stupid now, you know? I mean… with this whole Jesse mess, and let's face it, we're going to probably lose Regionals and lose Glee Club, and … I don't … Maybe I loved the idea of Finn more than I loved him." 

The statement, said softly, like Rachel was trying to convince herself, brought back a sudden moment, a snippet of conversation from before. 

Quinn found herself chuckling, aching inside. 

When Rachel glanced at her, she pressed her lips together in a painful smile. "Santana told me that one of the reasons I didn't understand her and Brittany is because I've never loved anyone more than myself." The pain flared again, deep inside of her, in that hollow place. "And it's true," she admitted. "I haven't." 

She hadn't loved Finn. Not like he deserved. If she had, she wouldn't have cheated on him in the first place. And she loved Puck right now as much as she ever would… which wasn't enough. He was a boy, a silly boy who wanted to be a man and made stupid mistakes in the meantime. 

And she didn't love him. 

"Quinn…" Her name was said with such tenderness, Quinn found herself blinking, swiveling to see Rachel's eyes glinting and her expression tender. "That's not true." 

She couldn't hear a lie. Not from Rachel, who always told the truth, no matter what. 

"Come on, Rachel," she breathed. 

"You love this baby." 

"Rachel," she snapped, wiping furiously at her stinging eyes. "It's just a baby." 

"But you love it. You love it so much you gave up everything just to give it a life." Hands pressed suddenly against her cheek, fingers wrapping around her own to pull away from her face, reveal herself to an earnest Rachel Berry. "Quinn, you could have gotten rid of it. But you didn't. And you went through all this… the pregnancy and getting kicked out of your own house… you fought for her, and you're not even going to keep her." Rachel's eyes grew wet, brilliant. "At the end of this you won't even get to be a mother to her because you want what's best for her. That's love, Quinn. You love her," Rachel repeated. "More than you love yourself."

It was classic Rachel Berry, with her dark brown eyes and her aching sincerity. Quinn had seen it twenty times before and each time, it had caused a reaction – be it disgust or disdain or annoyance or some sort of inspiration, but this time… all of Rachel's intensity was focused on her, and she was saying these words like she believed them, but she was looking at Quinn. 

And maybe it was the tears clouding Quinn's vision. Or the way her baby thumped at her, like she was agreeing. Or the way Rachel's skin, icy and cold, seemed to warm her down to her bones. 

Maybe it was just insanity, but Rachel Berry was suddenly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

The silence, in the aftermath of her big speech, seemed to unnerve Rachel, because she fidgeted, looking almost scared as she asked, "What?" 

Emotion lodged in Quinn's throat like a lump, and it was painful, but exhilarating. Entranced, Quinn was afraid to look away. 

"Nothing," she managed, choking out the word. "I just… I finally get it." 

Rachel's brow furrowed. "What?" 

"What they all see in you." Her fingers tightened around Rachel's, head lowering, mouth seeking Rachel's in a quick, fervent kiss. The shock of it hit them both, Quinn felt Rachel's breath pant against her mouth, Rachel jerking back slightly, but only slightly. Wide eyes studied her face, and Quinn, suddenly aching, suddenly wanting so terribly, just shook her head at the insecurity and leaned forward again, brushing her lips against her. Rachel didn't move, and so Quinn exhaled raggedly and pressed her hand against Rachel's icy cheek, thumb brushing at soft skin as her mouth clung to Rachel's lower lip. 

It seemed like an eternity. The world seemed to stop turning, leaving her with nothing but stillness and the feel of Rachel's lips on hers. 

And then it began again, suddenly, when Rachel came to life, her head tilting, and her nose bumping against hers, chasing Quinn's mouth with hers. 

Hands locked around Rachel's neck, and hesitation gave way to instinct, as she whimpered and kissed Rachel again and again. 

"What the hell?!" 

The voice, loud and strange and so damn close, broke the embrace. Quinn's lips tore from Rachel's, and her eyes widened, beating heart jumpstarting into damn near heart attack as she recognized the figure staring at them. 

"Jesse," Rachel whispered. 

"What the hell!" Jesse St. James looked like some sort of warped image of himself, eyes wide and wounded. "Were you two just making out? Were you guys just making out on my curb?" 

"Jesse! There you are!" Quinn jerked back, just in time to see Santana skidding to a stop in the driveway. "Oh, crap." 

"This … this was a trap. This was a trap, wasn't it?" Jesse's finger pointed accusingly. "You guys were… there wasn't going to be a threesome! You… you …. Rachel what the hell!" His expression grew wild. "This is to get back at me. You wanted me to see this. You made out with her to get back at me." 

"Jesse, I really think that you should-"

"This is war. I'm going to get my guys! I'm going to get them – and we're gonna… we're gonna-" He broke off, and suddenly stumbled around them. "I loved you!" he gasped at Rachel, and then broke into a wobbly sprint up the driveway. 

Head fragmented, out of breath, Quinn tried to get to her feet. "Oh my God… if he gets the rest of Vocal Adrenaline- we have to catch him-" 

Dizziness overtook her, and suddenly she found herself supported by both Rachel and Santana. 

"Don't worry about it," Santana said flippantly. 

Quinn glared. "No-" 

"Seriously." Santana's brow arched, head jerking between her and Rachel. "Did he just say you two made out?" 

Even if she didn't have Rachel's kiss burning on her lips, there was no way in hell Quinn was ever going to answer that question. 

Shoving at them both, Quinn headed for the driveway. "We have to catch him, Santana. Brittany and Kurt are still in there-" Her panicked statement faltered the moment she reached the porch.

Slumped against the door, head flopped over, snoring softly, was Jesse St. James. 

Coming up beside her, Santana crossed her arms. "I told you." 

Rachel inched forward, kneeling down to tentatively poke at the Vocal Adrenaline star. "… he's dead asleep." 

Quinn frowned, eyes locked heatedly on Rachel before the explanation fell into place. She whirled, glaring at Santana. "You drugged him?!" 

Santana shrugged uncaringly. "Duh. How did you think I was going to knock him out? With a bat? I'm not a thug." 

Overcome, Quinn could only gape at her in disbelief. 

"Oh relax, Sissy." Santana rolled her eyes and headed up the stairs. "It's just some over the counter sleeping pills. I put it into his beers." 

"How much did you give him?" If Rachel looked at all concerned about Jesse, Quinn did not give a damn. 

"More than he needed. What a jerk!" Santana knelt beside Rachel to grab hold of the sleeping guy's sleeve. "Rachel, you're officially no longer the most annoying person I know. What kind of straight guy goes on for ten minutes about Barbara Streisand? Shut up, Rachel," Santana added immediately. "I don't want to know." 

"How much have we missed?" Mercedes' palm fell onto her shoulder, looking out of breath and mildly excited. Behind her, Tina wheeled Artie up the walk. 

"What are you guys doing?" 

"Santana said the coast was clear," Artie said, and it was just weird to see him say anything with a straight face with camouflage make up smeared across his nose and cheeks. 

"But what about the party?!" Apparently she wasn't the only one who had just lost their mind. "A house full of Vocal Adrenaline jerks?" 

"Help me get him inside," Santana ordered. 

"Rachel!" At her snap, Rachel hesitated, brown eyes meeting hers. Almost immediately, she grew cotton-mouthed, and her eyes shut in frustration, fingers rubbing at her temple as she shrugged and shook her head. 

The door opened, and when Rachel and Santana dragged Jesse into the house, she had no choice but to follow. 

\--

"Hi, Rachel!" Brittany, settled comfortably on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, booted heels resting on the back of a passed out Vocal Adrenaline member sprawled across it, had flushed cheeks and a radiant smile. "You made it! Isn't this a great party?" 

Littered amongst plastic cups, beer bottles, and overturned furniture was the entire Vocal Adrenaline squad in various states of unconsciousness and undress. 

Quinn sucked in a horrified breath. "You drugged ALL of them?" 

"Of course I did." Santana propped Jesse up against a bare wall, and wiped her hands. "Once Brittany got them all into the drinking game, it was easy. She can out drink anyone and as long as I made sure her beer was clean, it was like taking candy from a baby." 

"I've never understood that," Brittany added, twisting her hair onto a finger. "Every time I try to take candy from my baby cousin, I get in so much trouble. He screams. It is so not easy." 

"Wait…" Tina frowned at Artie. "You knew Brittany would start making out with everyone?" 

"Duh." 

"If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete." Brittany's eyes twinkled at Santana. 

"Okay stop it," Mercedes snapped. "You're freaking me out. Where's Kurt?" 

"Oh, he's still in the closet," Brittany said, flicking a finger in the direction of the hallway. "One of the girls fell in love with him and kept trying to make out with him. He got scared." 

Mercedes immediately cursed and headed for the hallway. Tina and Artie followed. 

It was surreal to be standing in a trashed living room, with chapped lips and two Cheerios and Rachel Berry. 

Her heartbeat, thumping like it was at a horse race before, settled into a deep, solid thud, that felt no less reassuring. From across the table, Rachel's eyes caught hers. 

"You knew I'd make out with them, huh?" 

Exhaling raggedly, Quinn felt almost grateful at the distraction of Brittany pushing to her feet and sauntering towards Santana. 

"Of course I did, Britt." Santana's smile was indulgent. 

"You think you know me so well." Reaching the brunette cheerleader, Brittany's arms slipped loosely around her shoulders. 

Quinn was suddenly desperately aware of Rachel circling the room, stepping closer to her. 

"Babe, you're drunk." Santana's hands linked loosely around Brittany's waist. On her face was an expression that was so intimate and loving Quinn felt suddenly like an intruder. "And you just like kissing. I know that." 

"Mmm." Brittany's forehead tilted against Santana's, body pressing flush against her. "Did you know something else?" Her voice lowered to a loud whisper.

"What?" Santana's knuckles rubbed against the small of Brittany's back, drifting underneath the halter and skimming along her spine. 

"No one kisses me like you do." Brittany's smile widened; all sincerity and happiness. "When I'm kissing you, I never want to stop." 

Her lips pressed heatedly against Santana's, and it ripped such a needy moan out of Brittany that Quinn found herself flushing uncomfortably. 

"I knew that already," she heard a breathless Santana respond. "But it's nice to hear. Same goes." 

And then they were full on making out. In the middle of the living room. Like this entire evening had been some sort of foreplay. With groans and tongues and hands wandering to inappropriate places. 

When she dared to look at Rachel, she was shifting on her feet and rubbing at her neck, and it was so damn uncomfortable, Quinn found her patience withering. 

"HEY!" she said, snapping her fingers and striding forward. "Okay, we get it. You two love each other. We're fine with pinkie holding and cutesie looks but I draw the line at you two having sex in front of us." 

"Hear, hear." Kurt, supported by both Mercedes and Tina as they came in from the hallway, looked vaguely nauseous. "I'm already ready to throw up." 

The kissing stopped, at least, but Santana, lipstick smeared and hair wild from Brittany's fumbling, didn't let go of her intimate hold with her best friend. Her glare to Quinn was damn near wicked. "Hey, I'm not the one making out with Rachel on the curb." 

Quinn 's heart spiked into her throat, eyes fluttering closed and hand rising to press against her face. 

"What?!" Kurt's outburst was almost a squeak. "Bathroom!" He whispered, jerking his head back to the hallway. "Take me to the bathroom. I’m gonna hurl-" 

"I told you she was a good kisser." Brittany smiled, looking almost proud. 

Behind her, a throat cleared, loud and annoyed. Quinn kept herself facing forward, trying like hell not to look at Rachel Berry. 

"What now?" Rachel asked, impatient. "Because I'd like to get out of here before we're arrested for assault." 

Santana grinned. "Now we have fun. Brittany?" 

The blonde immediately untangled herself. "I'll go get the razors."   
__


	4. Before You Start, You're Already Beat

_He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight. He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces. He will win whose army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks. He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared._  
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War

\--

"One day," Mercedes said later that evening, as she was settled on Quinn's bed, staring up at the ceiling, "Brittany and Santana are going to take over the world, and I'm going to flee to Canada." 

Quinn's smile was fleeting, given solely for the benefit of her best friend. 

There were many things about how the night ended that were disturbing, including Brittany and Santana's prescribed method of vengeance: shaving the heads of each and every Vocal Adrenaline member. 

The image of Jesse's unruly, carefully cut curls flitting to the floor seemed almost to happen in slow motion when she replayed it in her mind, and she knew there would be consequences. 

Somehow, tonight, she couldn't bring herself to care. 

She felt fragile and somehow numb at the same time, and though her fingers played with the pattern on the bedspread, her eyes were unseeing, focused instead on the phantom feeling of kissing Rachel Berry. 

Her insides clenched suddenly, and Quinn twitched, shifting herself on the bedspread to cover the sudden shudder. "I feel sorry for Kurt," she said, offhand. "He's going to hurt tomorrow." 

"Yeah, but it was nice, you know? That we all did it together. I've always liked Brittany, and Santana's… well… Santana, but somehow this is the first time when I really thought of them as one of us. Even if it did get awkward when they ditched us to go hook up in Jesse's bedroom." 

Quinn's mouth quirked. "We should have locked them in there." 

"Please. If it's one thing I've learned about tonight is that I'm never pissing Santana off again. Well, that and Jesse St. James cannot pull off bald." 

She tried to smile, meeting Mercedes glance before drifting away. 

"So…" Mercedes' tone grew impish. "You know I'm gonna ask." 

A hot flush rushed through her, and Quinn felt it burning in her cheeks. Pushing her breath out in irritation, she groaned, shaking her head. "No," she pleaded. "Please don't." 

"Quinn, come on!" The bed bounced with Mercedes' enthusiasm. "This is juicy stuff! I mean… you and Rachel?" 

Palm lowering from her face, Quinn glared at her nosy friend. "There is no me and Rachel." 

All she got was a skeptical brow raise back. "Quinn-" 

"No!" she snapped, stumbling off the bed. "Look, I was just… really vulnerable, okay? And… " Her fingers twisted into her hair. "Rachel, she just… she said something that was…" The moment came rushing back, a perfect picture of Rachel Berry being suddenly gorgeous, the awed feeling that over took her, the soft touch of a tongue against hers that shot an uncomfortably strong wave of desire through her even now. "I lost my mind," she managed feebly, falling back on the bed and burying her heated face into her clammy hands. 

Mercedes stayed quiet, obviously processing. "Was that why you were so amped on getting revenge? Cause you like Rachel?" 

She grimaced. "I don't like Rachel," she gritted between grinding teeth. 

"It's okay if you do." 

"I don't!" she snapped. 

"Are you sure?" 

"YES!" she snapped, head flying up, eyes blazing with sudden fury. "God, Mercedes, I'm not even gay!" 

"I didn't say you had to be." 

"Well, I'm not!" she snapped, overheated and desperately overwhelmed. "God, can you even imagine? To go from president of the Chastity club, head cheerleader… future Homecoming Queen! To a homeless… pregnant… lesbian… nobody- It's too much!" 

"Okay, one, you're not homeless." Mercedes seemed almost peeved about that. "You have a home here now. Two, can I ask you something?" 

She sighed, blowing at a strand of hair that stuck in her mouth. "Is it about Rachel?" 

"No." 

She remained suspicious, but sighed, nodding weakly. 

"What's so terrible about your life now?" Quinn frowned, glaring at Mercedes. "I mean aside from the teen mom, getting kicked out of your house, knocked up thing," Mercedes amended quickly. "You said yourself, you were a starving, horrible person a year ago. And I don't think you were even happy." 

Quinn swallowed, wiping her palms against her leggings. 

"And now… you've got friends you trust, a home… you're right. It's a lot of change. But who says it has to all be bad?" With a smile, Mercedes leaned forward, and pecked her on the temple, like a mother kissing her daughter good night. "Think it over. I'm going to bed." 

Quinn didn't sleep at all. 

\--

Quinn Fabray was a bitch. 

She knew that much about herself, at least. She used to revel in it. 

It was something she and Santana had in common, and it was the reason they were here now, standing in front of the school, eyes on the parking lot. 

Because, as Puck told her that morning, eyes dazed with admiration, Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez got shit done.

"Just so you know," Santana said suddenly, breaking their mutual silence. "Now that Brittany knows you like chicks-" 

"I don't like chicks." 

Her snap was crisp, meant to cut Santana off, but the other girl only looked at her briefly, and continued. "She might try to make out with you at some point." 

It was the last thing she expected to hear.

At her shocked expression, Santana just arched a brow and shrugged. "I'd let it happen. I'm just saying," she stated, like this was a totally normal conversation to have. "She's a good kisser, and it's just Britt's curiosity. Once she's done it, she'll get over it and then she won't do it again." 

"Unless she's with you," Quinn found herself replying, tone dry. 

"With me it's different." To Santana Lopez, this was fact. Her certainty… her security… was astonishing. 

"Right," she answered slowly, forcing her attention back to the lot of parked cars. "Right. Of course it is." Her chest rose and fell, emotions rising suddenly in confused turmoil. "Santana."

"No." 

"No, what?" 

"No," Santana snapped. "I'm not going to be your lesbian guru, okay? Figure this shit out on your own." 

Embarrassment flooded her, and she smiled in discomfort. "I'm not asking for one." 

"Good." 

"I'm not like you, okay? I'm not bi." 

"Right."   
The way Santana said it, so dismissive and patronizing, suddenly infuriated her. 

"Don’t do that. THAT," she growled, when Santana's mouth turned up in a smug smirk. "That look you give me, like you think I'm lying. To myself or whatever. I hate that." 

"Right." Giving no heed to her warning, Santana crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, turning to face forward. "So Rachel just looks like a dude to you now? I mean, I know you used to say she was a tranny but-" 

"Oh, come on-" she snapped, exasperated, but was cut off immediately when Santana reached out and grabbed her bicep. 

"Look." 

And there she was. Shelby Cocoran. Rachel's mom, Vocal Adrenaline coach. Outright bitch, with her purse in her hand and a fierce, indignant expression on her face. 

It was infuriating, and even Shelby's hesitation, the way her steps faltered when she discovered the two of them side by side, blocking the entrance with mutual glares, was little comfort. 

"You're here to rat us out, right?" It was just the right bitchy tone. No sound of weakness. All confidence and just enough entitlement to make Shelby perfectly aware that she was beneath them both. 

But Rachel's mom, who had her nose and her eyes, just glared right back. "You drugged my entire team and shaved their heads," she answered heatedly. "One week before Regionals, I have an entire squad of Elmer Fudds because of you. I could have you arrested." 

"They should have gotten a hell of a lot worse," Santana spat. "It's just hair. It grows back." 

A strong jaw went even firmer. Shelby stared up at them, saw twin expressions of stubborn anger, and maybe it seemed to intimidate her slightly, because she just sighed, voice softer than it was before. 

"Listen," she said, "I get it. You're kids. Pranks happen. But a rivalry is one thing. Assault is another." 

"It's called an eye for an eye," Quinn snapped. "Or did your precious pet not tell you that he and his buddies egged Rachel in the parking lot last week?" 

Maybe she didn't know that. Shelby actually looked stunned. "What?" 

"Did you know Rachel is a vegan?" Santana chuckled angrily. "They egged your vegan daughter. You've got a really classy choir, Ms. Cocoran." 

The validation that filled her at the sight of Shelby's obvious uncertainty, the clouded conflict on her face, was thrilling. 

Because this was Rachel's mother. This was Rachel's mother, who was supposed to protect her from this type of crap and instead she was here, on the steps, ready to defend Jesse St. James, who had broken Rachel with her permission, her damn guidance. 

"I didn't know about that," Shelby said, softly, with regret. 

It was too little, too late. 

"Of course you didn't." Quinn's head shook at the pathetic uselessness of it all. "You know what I don't get about you? You're the one that sought her out. What did you think was going to happen?" 

And there it was: Shelby's pride. In the way her spine stiffened, her eyes flashed. 

"Listen kid," she said, voice dangerous, accent thick with emotion. "That is none of your business. " 

Quinn didn't care. "Did you think you were gonna fill some ache in your heart? Some hollow?" Her arms crossed, over her womb, holding her baby securely. "Because I may be a kid, but even I know that to be a mom you have to love your kid more than anything in the world, including yourself." She could feel Santana's gaze on her, could see a startled expression through her peripheral vision. "And you're never gonna fill that hole, because you're not capable of that." She shook her head, disgusted. "So fine, get us expelled, whatever, but I'm not gonna be sorry for what we did. We should have shaved your head." 

Her heart was beating so fast, righteous anger flowing through her, and it made her unafraid to look at this woman, this selfish woman who couldn’t comprehend what suddenly became so damn clear to Quinn, a pregnant high school nobody. 

Shelby stared at her, but that anger seemed to have withered away, because her eyes grew shiny, and a smile trembled on her lips. 

"Rachel is lucky," she said thickly. "To have such good friends." 

The statement was ludicrous. "We're not friends," Quinn said, unable to help herself. 

"Yeah," Santana agreed. "She just made out with her." 

Quinn flushed, eyes rolling as she glared at the other girl. Santana shrugged, as if to say, 'What? You did.' 

Shelby's throat cleared, as she toed the concrete, considering. "Look, I'll drop this," she said suddenly. "But on the condition that the prank war ends now, do you understand? I'll make it very clear to my students they are not to retaliate or they are off the squad. And I'll expect the same from you. It's over." 

"Of course it's over," Santana said, laughing at the ridiculous of the statement. "We freaking won." 

Shelby Cocoran just smiled, this empty smile that seemed suddenly so familiar, before she shook her head and headed back the way she came. 

In the aftermath, Quinn felt herself suddenly grow dizzy, head pounding with a headache. 

When she heard shuffles, turned and saw Rachel Berry staring at them both with what looked like freaking stars in her eyes, it didn't help. 

"I…I heard you guys were going to be out here. I wanted to stand with you," Rachel rasped, before she cleared her throat and took a breath, fingers twisting together in front of her. "I just… " Her head rose, eyes locked straight onto hers. "I know we're not technically friends, but no one has ever done anything like that for me." 

Light-headed, out of her element, Quinn couldn't speak. 

"So… um… if it's okay, I'm going to hug you now. " 

"Oh God, no-" Santana shook her head quickly, like she had been asked to touch acid. "No-" Rachel already had her, arms around her in a grip that was tight and desperate. Santana looked like she was being buried alive. "Okay. Okay. Okay, STOP! You're welcome!" She shoved Rachel away, face red with discomfort. "Never do that again!" 

Rachel just smiled, like Santana was some fuzzy bear she wanted to pet. "Thank you." 

She turned, and her smile for Quinn was different, somehow. Quinn was frozen, suddenly overtaken because Rachel was looking at her like she had last night, and the effect was the same. 

It seeped inside her, trembled her insides, and overtook her with the notion that Rachel Berry was breathtakingly beautiful. 

Another step forward, and then Rachel was inches away, nervous and grateful and god-damn sweet. "Thank you," Rachel whispered, "Quinn." 

A small, lean body pressed flush against her, and Quinn smell berry-scented shampoo and musky perfume, felt fingers in her nape and the breath of Rachel against her neck. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and without hesitation, she returned the embrace, arms smoothing around Rachel's sweater, keeping her close. 

"You're welcome," she said raggedly.

When Rachel pulled back, it felt like it was too soon. 

Warm, liquid eyes searched hers, and then Rachel just smiled, before turning on her heel and heading back into the school. 

The feeling she was left with brought with it a sensation of a drowning person, bobbing up and down in the waves, scrambling to touch dry land, find something steady to ground herself with. 

All there was, was Santana. 

"Did you really mean it?" she asked, helpless and lost. "When you said I would never have what you and Brittany had?" 

Santana's head tilted. "Did you really mean it when you said you weren't gay for Berry? Cause that looked hella gay right there. "

Quinn closed her eyes and shook her head. "Shut up." 

\--

They had avenged Rachel Berry, and hit Vocal Adrenaline back harder than anyone had ever thought possible. 

Mr. Schuester had found out almost immediately, the way everyone did, when the show choir message boards went viral with pictures Artie had posted of Vocal Adrenaline and their new hairdos, and he had been furious. The entire Glee Club had gotten a ten minute monologue about how disappointed he was in them, that it didn't change anything, that they still had to place at Regionals or Glee Club would be gone forever. That if they had pressed charges they would have been in serious trouble, yadda, yadda, yadda. 

Quinn didn't give a damn. 

It was Shelby, who had calmed him down with a phone call, told him flatly that for what they had done to her daughter, Vocal Adrenaline had gotten what they had deserved. 

It spoke of a mother, and in that brief moment, Quinn actually respected her. 

Quinn didn't know what aftermath there would be after she had kissed Rachel Berry. 

Had she gone based on Rachel's past behavior with Finn and Jesse, she would have guessed she would have been inundated with texts, calls, hers and hers cat calendars, rainbow colored pins, and a maniacal smile. 

There had been none of these things. 

Quinn Fabray didn't even realize that she had been steadying herself, waiting for it, until the day after her confrontation with Shelby, when she was sitting in choir room with Mercedes, listening to Kurt retell their tale of conquest, and Rachel walked into the room. 

The moment she did, Quinn sat up, fingers digging hard into the side of her plastic choir chair, eyes locking immediately with Rachel's. 

Rachel Berry just smiled, a smile that looked nothing like the last two Quinn had received, and took her seat beside Finn. 

Quinn didn't know what she had been expecting to happen. Somehow she had imagined a scene, large and dramatic, because Quinn had emphatically claimed that they had not made out, and more than anything, Rachel hated a liar. 

Maybe a demand, a stomp of Rachel's feet, some tantrum because it had been Quinn that had kissed her, after all. 

Instead, Rachel did nothing at all, and her lack of action was privately devastating. Quinn exhaled raggedly, turned back in her chair, and put a plastic smile on her face. 

Once, in the week that followed, in the midst of the news that Sue Sylvester was one of the Regionals judges and the realization that Glee Club was screwed, she had caught Rachel staring at her, with dark, deep eyes, a pursed mouth, and an expression on her face that was so hard to read, but one that Quinn wanted to decipher so badly. 

When their eyes connected, when Rachel realized she had been caught, she didn't look away. She just sat, letting herself be seen, with her legs crossed in her seat beside Finn, before she slowly, quietly, looked away. 

It left Quinn with a hole in her heart, that hollow place that always ached and flared in the presence of Brittany and Santana. It throbbed for Rachel Berry. 

It was disconcerting and frightening and heartbreaking all at once, because Quinn understood very quickly that the person she had wanted to be was the person Rachel Berry had seen that night on a cement curb. 

The problem was, Quinn wasn't sure that who she had become, who she was, or she could ever be could ever live up to that potential. 

Or that she could overcome the fear to even begin to try. 

\--

Mr. Shuester had gone for cliché and given them a Journey melody to perform for Regionals. 

The day of the competition, in their Green Room, Quinn privately thought that they looked ridiculous, this rag-tag group of misfits that had no chance. 

Even Santana, in her gold dress and poofed up hair, was visibly nervous, her usually carefully schooled smirk of disdain gone, in favor of a tight, hopeful expression.

In that moment, watching as Santana quietly and without prompting straightened Artie's tie, adjusting the knot and tossing an idle comment to Puck, it occurred to Quinn that even Santana needed Glee. It was obvious in the way she smiled, in the way she sang, loud and powerful and full of joy. 

Heart in her throat, she stepped into the hallway, where she knew Rachel would be, eyes shut and hands shaking at her sides, mentally preparing for her opening solo with Finn. 

When Quinn shut the door, the audible click got her attention. Brown eyes opened and focused on her, and when they did, Quinn's smile was soft and friendly. 

"How are you?" Rachel shrugged, her nerves visible on her face. "You're going to be amazing. As usual." 

Rachel's shoulders came down. A soft smile of thanks flitted over her lips, before it faded. Quinn stayed still, eyes on Rachel as the other girl exhaled softly and glanced at the floor, then back at her. 

"You know," Quinn began, calm and careful. "If we lose-" 

"We're not going to lose," she said immediately, voice sharp with determination.

Quinn found herself smiling, a sudden surge of affection for Rachel's thick-headed certainty infecting her more than she wanted to admit. 

"But if we do," she said, head dipping. "Then Glee Club is over." The muscles of Rachel's throat worked, swallowing. "I'll have my baby…" 

"And you'll get your life back?" Rachel took a step forward, arms crossing as she toed the floor, nibbling on her bottom lip. "Will you go back to the Cheerios?" 

Quinn didn't move, but she considered the thought. The world she had come from. She shrugged. "It feels like home." 

But she knew the consequences. She knew what it might mean. A return to her old self. What was comfortable. What was instinct. 

It had all been thrown away because of a pregnancy and her penance was nearly passed. Her baby was low and heavy, and Quinn had months of Lamaze classes, ready and waiting for her final test. 

She'd have earned it. 

But now, it felt like she still had a price to pay, because if she did, if she went back to that, there was no room for Rachel. Not without Glee Club. 

She could see it, in Rachel's watery eyes, the way her lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry it took us so long to become friends, Quinn." 

Quinn felt her heart thud, her hands gripping the knob behind her. "I'm still not sure we are." 

Rachel took another step forward. "Regardless," she said, eyes locked on Quinn's features. "If this really is the end, and it won't be because we're going to win…" 

Quinn's smile was unconscious, but she was helpless in her sudden adoration. 

"But if it is, can I ask you for something?"

Quinn found herself laughing unsteadily. "Rachel, there's a nationally ranked show choir in a green room with thousand dollar wigs on because I shaved their heads for you." She arched a skeptical brow. "You're running low on favors." 

It didn't seem to matter. Suddenly Rachel was inches away, and Quinn was trapped between the smaller girl and the door, and there was that look on Rachel's face. 

Rachel's kiss was unexpected, but Quinn's shock was nothing compared to her sudden need. Her eyes shut and her mouth opened, hands jerking from behind her back to pull Rachel in against her. 

She kissed her until she was dizzy, and then, and only then, did she pull away, breath panting and chest heaving, fingers digging hard in Rachel's nape. 

Rachel's smile for her was bittersweet, and when she tip-toed up, pressed another light kiss against Quinn's needy mouth, Quinn felt broken because of it. 

It felt like goodbye. 

"Break a leg," Rachel said, fingers against her jaw and eyes shiny and magnetic. 

Inside of Quinn, emotion bubbled up, and it formed a statement that sounded suspiciously like a declaration of love. 

The very idea tore her to pieces, and so she clamped it down, and let Rachel go. "You too," she rasped. 

\--

Her baby, apparently tired of her mother's Glee Club related drama and sparked by the adrenaline of New Direction's Regional's performance, announced its intention of arrival the second Quinn's own mother materialized out of nowhere, and asked her to come home. 

In a room with Mercedes, her mother, Puck, and masked doctors who meant nothing to her, she fought for her baby. Endured the agony. Felt torn in two. 

And then there was that tiny person, that little life that she had given up everything for, placed in her arms. 

Quinn's baby, who had poked her and given her back aches and mood swings and tilted her world in its axis, stared at her with cloudy blue eyes, and little wrinkled fingers. 

And Quinn loved her. She loved her more than she had ever loved anything. 

She began to sob. 

\--

"We didn't even place." 

There was no attitude in Puck's tone. He leaned against the doorway, hands in his back pockets. 

Feeling weak, exhausted, it took a moment for Quinn to absorb that. 

They didn't place. 

Glee Club was over. 

In the wake of what she had experienced, it felt almost anti-climatic. 

Her smile to Puck was grim. "Thanks," she told him, sincere despite the nature of the news. "For telling me." 

Exhaling loudly, Puck shuffled into her room, disappointment etched on his face as clearly as his tears had been when she had finally delivered. 

"Yeah, well…" He scrubbed at his shorn head. "Jesse's wig fell off in the middle of the performance. During the middle of Bohemian Rhapsody. Rachel says it was epic." 

The mental image, the gleeful way Puck said, was enough to send her into a fit of tired giggles, weak shakes that brought with it pain. It was worth it. 

"That's… pretty awesome." 

Puck grinned at her. "You know, you're a rock star." He had never looked so sincere. "What you did was amazing." 

With his dimples, shy-boy smile, he was suddenly the man she had wanted him to be. The one who had kissed her and made her forget about the world. 

"Thanks," she said. "You kinda suck." He snorted, and she smiled. "But I have a feeling you're going to be a really great guy one day, Puck." 

He looked at her like he believed her, and Quinn realized that she did believe it. 

\--

There was no energy to be bitter at her mother. 

Quinn wondered idly if it would come, when she was off the drugs and more than a few hours past the birth of her first baby that wouldn't ever really be hers. 

At the moment, there was nothing but a needy gratefulness, until there was a light knock at her hospital door and Rachel, still dressed in her Regionals outfit, poked her head in, with a bouquet of flowers. 

Exhausted, weak, Quinn still felt her heart give a tiny jolt, like it was perking up in anticipation. "Hi," she said, and tried to sit up. 

"Quinn, honey!" Her mother pushed her back down. 

"Is this a bad time?" 

"No," Quinn said, desperately firm. Her eyes motioned meaningfully to her mother. "Mom, can you give us some space?"

For once, her mother took the hint. "I'll go get some coffee." 

Rachel waited, offering her a polite smile as she passed. 

There was a moment, just after they were alone, when the awkwardness seemed to envelope the room, settle on them both like a thick fog. 

Quinn felt odd, outside of herself, and somehow anxious, desperate. 

"So we lost," she blurted. 

Rachel's smile tightened, her quiet devastation flashing over her face before it faded for a beautiful, simple smile. "Yeah. But did you hear about Jesse's wig?" 

Quinn grinned. "Yeah." 

"It was kind of priceless." 

"I bet." 

The cellophane in Rachel's flowers crinkled in her hand. "Did you know one of them saw Santana and ran crying in the other direction?" 

Quinn exhaled raggedly. "I'm sorry about Glee Club, Rachel. "

Rachel's smile faltered. She looked almost lost, standing there with her flowers and her sad, earnest expression. "Me too," she said, so sincerely it made Quinn suddenly ache. 

The surge of emotion was too much, and the tears spilled over before she would quite help it.

Wiping furiously at them, she laughed in embarrassment. "Sorry. I must look like such a freak right now." 

When Rachel didn't respond, Quinn glanced up, and was struck breathless when Rachel's eyes shined at her. 

"Actually, I think you look like a superhero." 

\--

"For the record, I respect what you did." Knocked out of her drowsy dosing, Quinn's eyes opened to see Santana, settled in a visitor's chair, flipping through a magazine. Her dark eyes leveled on her. "I don’t know if I could have." 

It was the most honest Santana had ever been. 

Quinn decided she owed her the same. "I was jealous, you know." Her voice was weak, raspy. Her smile was small, but there. "You were right, I didn't know if I could ever have what you have." 

Santana eyed her, the magazine up between her hands. "I think you're on your way," she said flippantly. "Just… uh… buyer beware, you know? Think before you purchase." Her smile became almost strained. "Once you're in, you're in. Flaws and all." 

Because Santana was in love with someone who claimed to speak to her cat. Quinn laughed softly. "Someone told me once that the right person won't just love you in spite of your flaws, but because of them." 

Santana's magazine stilled, then lowered. "That's actually kinda true." Rising from the chair, Santana dropped her magazine on Quinn's bed. "So, I can try to get you into cheerleading camp, if you want it." She must have seen it, the hesitation, the way her fingers tightened on the sheets, because Santana said almost immediately, "Think about it. See you in school, Quinn. "

"Bye, Santana," she whispered. 

\--

Her baby, Beth, was adopted by Shelby Cocoran.

Quinn's initial reaction, the very second Shelby appeared to her and Puck outside the window where their baby was sleeping, had been a big, fat hell no. 

Two hours later, after speaking softly to Shelby, hearing about a world of mistakes and listening to Shelby explain every reason why she was trying to rectify them, Quinn had reconsidered. 

She saw Rachel in her mother's eyes, and a determination that reminded her so much of the diva, it unnerved her. 

In the end, Quinn said yes. 

It was a leap of faith, but more than anything, Quinn wanted to believe that people could change. 

A week later, as she sat in an auditorium with eleven other students, and sang 'To Sir, With Love' to Mr. Schue, and watched Santana's heartbroken tears stream down her face , Quinn understood how very possible it was. 

\--

Quinn wasn't pregnant anymore, and in some ways, it was unnerving. 

She was still slowly healing, but her body was coming back, and now, when she jogged through the hallways of McKinley, it wasn't with a large belly that singled her out. 

She wasn't a Cheerio, and this time, there was no one at her side, fighting to keep up with her. 

This time, it was Quinn that was doing the chasing. 

She weaved through the jocks, the Cheerios, the normal kids and the geeks, not giving any of them a passing glance, eyes locked instead on the brunette that was moving just ahead of her. 

"Rachel!" she said, frustration getting the better of her. 

Finally, Rachel seemed to hear her, because the other girl finally stopped. Dark eyes widened with surprise and a little trepidation when she realized it was Quinn who was coming after her, but Rachel stayed. 

Out of breath, slightly sweaty, and with her heart in her throat, Quinn decided that was a very good sign. 

Rachel's eyes were puffy and red, her sadness painted on her face like a portrait, because they had just sung their last Glee number, and it had been for Mr. Schuester. 

Staring down at her, Quinn discovered herself speechless. 

"Quinn," Rachel prompted. "What is it?" 

Suddenly trembling, Quinn's mouth twisted into a nervous, odd smile. "I…" 

"Quinn…" 

"Glee Club is over." 

Rachel's mouth pursed. Her head tilted, and she nodded somberly. 

Quinn inhaled deeply through her nose, and tried again. "I'm not the same person I was last year." Shrugging helplessly, she was jostled by a passing student. Quinn shoved back, and then glanced back down to Rachel. "I don't want to be that person again. Because I think that person really was who Santana said I was. And that kind of person… " Head swimming, Quinn shut her eyes in frustration, trying to find the words to explain herself. "She won't ever have anyone love her. She won't ever love anyone the way she should." 

Rachel sucked in her breath, but the confusion lingered in her deep dark eyes. "Quinn-" 

"I want to be a superhero," Quinn snapped, and then flushed, forcing herself to power through. "I want to be the person I feel like when you look at me." And then she saw it: wetness that seeped into Rachel's expressive eyes, pure emotion that filled Quinn with that sudden rush. That desperate high that had branded her from the first moment she had received it. "Look, I don't know if I could ever love anyone the way I loved my baby, but you… You make me feel like I can. Like I can't help it. Like it's almost easy. And I can't give you away too. I don't want to." Sucking in her breath, trying desperately to ignore the fact that she was pouring her heart out like a freak in a high school hallway, Quinn willed for courage. "So… Rachel…"

The question never came. Instead, she received an armful of Rachel, heated kisses pressed to her mouth, shutting her up with a lingering embrace. 

Around them, Quinn dimly heard someone crash into the lockers; a wolf whistle; the screech of a boy; a smattering of applause. 

None of it seemed to matter. The only thing that did was the sputtering joy that lit up inside of her, the feel of Rachel's tongue sliding against hers, the insistent voice in her head that told her excitedly that this, THIS, felt like home. 

A long moment later, Rachel pulled back, hugging her tightly and whispering, "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" 

Exasperated, exhilarated, and feeling oddly as if she had won some sort of war, Quinn could only roll her eyes. "Shut up, Rachel." 

FIN


End file.
